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THE / " 



An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol. LIX 

Xonfcon : 







ACROSTICS .. 3SM99>279,349,479,596 


Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 
" ARROW AT A VENTURE, AN " "Sapper." 105 

Illustrations by Christopher Clark, R.I. 

The Man Who Set the World Singing and Dancing 582 

Illustrations by A, K. Mac Donald. 

BARRIE, SIR JAMES. The Man Who Made Peter Pan E. T. Raymond. 366 

Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. 
BATTLE IS WON, HOW A Marshal Foch. 188 

Illustrations from Drawing^. " 
BLACK GRIPPE, THE -•■•..' Edgar Wallace. 287 

Illustrations by E. Vcfpifleux. 
BLUE BLOOD William Caine. 300 

Illustration by H. M. Bateman. 

BRIDGE PROBLEM Major Browning. 171,268 

BRIDGE PROBLEMS, THE HARDEST. Six More Examples R. F. Foster. 79, 103 


Illustrations from Drawings. 

CAZALETS SECRETARY Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 225 

Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 
CHESS CURIOSITIES T.B.Rowland. 101,163 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 



Illustrations from Photographs. 
COLOMBO NIGHT, A Austin Philips. 587 

Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 

DAYS OF HIS YOUTH, THE John Peter Toohey. 317 

Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 
DEAR OLD SQUIFFY .. P. G. Wodehouse. 445 

Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 
••DOING FATHER A BIT OF GOOD" P. G. Wodehouse. 553 

Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 
DOUBLE EVENT W. Pett Ridge. 75 

Illustrations by A. Leete. 

FANCY DRESS M.L.C. PickthaU. 274 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott, R.I. 
FLOWER OF SPAIN, THE Joseph Hergesheimer. 80 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott, R.I. 
FLOWER-SHOW AT KWALIZ, THE Herbert Tremaine. 507 

Illustrations by Ren6 Bull. 
FROM THE DEPTHS F. Britten Austin. 179 

Illustrations by C. M. Padday, R.O.I. 
" FUNNIEST PICTURES, MY " W . Heath Robinson. 383 


Illustrations from Drawings. 
" GOOD HUNTING, OLD CHAP ! " .., .. *..„,.. .. "Sapper." 418 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 


INDEX. iii. 



HUNTING, THE BOOM IN Written and Illustrated by G. D. Armour. 220 

IN MID-AIR F. Britten Austin. 4*8 

Illustrations by E. Verpilleux. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

KEY TO PARADISE, THE John Cleveland. 485 

Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 
KINK IN HIS CHARACTER, A P. G. Wodehouse. 131 

Illustrations by A. T. Smith. 
KISS, TO— OR NOT TO KISS ? The Kissing-Screen. What Doctors Say About It 550 

Illustrations by E. F. Sherie. 

LAWRENCE, COLONEL T. E. ** The Uncrowned King of Arabia." 

The Most Romantic Career of Modern Times Lowell Thomas. 40, 141. 251, 330 

Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. 
LEAP-YEAR. Should a Woman's Privilege Become Her Right ? 

A Symposium of Lady Novelists and Others Adrian Margaux. 269 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

LIGHTNING SKETCHES Alick P . F . Ritchie. 273 

LITTLE PRINCESS, THE Roland Per twee. 521 

Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 
" LOOK AT HIS NOSE ! " Lynn Doyle 497 

Illustrations by Chas. Crombie. 
LOVERS, THE F. Britten Austin. 339 

Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 
LYCH-GATE, THE Mrs. BaiUie Reynolds. 3 

Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 


Illustrations by Lionel Edwards, A.R.C.A 

MAN WHO CAME BACK, THE Edgar Wallace. 361 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

MAN WHO CAUGHT MICE, THE Gerald ViUiers Stuart. 471 

Illustrations by Kay Edmunds. 


Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 


Illustrations by Stanley Davis. 

MINX AND THE BRUTE, THE Holwor thy Hall. 190 

Illustrations by W. Dewar. 

MIRROR AND THE INCENSE, THE Gerald ViUiers Stuart. 120 

Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 

How Shop-Window Models are Made 280 

Stonehenge in Miniature 281 

A Cyclonic Storm 282 

The Great Bell of Mingun 284 

The Best Photograph of a Tornado Ever Taken 286 

Solutions to Last Month's Chess Curiosities 286 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

MURPHY'S MUMMY. A Mystery Story D. Wooster Taylor. 262 

Illustrations by J. Henry. 

OLD FRANK SEES IT THROUGH Samuel A. Derieux. 164 

Illustrations by Tom Peddie. 

Illustrations by G. L. Stampa. 
ORPEN, SIR WILLIAM, R.A., M.B.E .. Sidney Dark. 27 

Illustrations from Paintings. 
OUTSIDE LINE OF HISTORY. THE . . > * .Ul igjjlc I Tj&y. Heath Robinson. 



p *? ' v-7 




PACK OF CARDS, THE •.. .. Hylton Cleaver. 373 

Illustrations by E. Prater. 

Illustrations by Dudley Tennant. 
PERPLEXITIES Henry E. Dudeney. 100,102,204,304,404,504,535 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 
PET, A UNIQUE. A Tame Humming Bird 101 

Illustration from a Photograph. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
PURELY PERSONAL. Impressions of Some of Our Leading Actresses . . E.T. Raymond. 456 

REDEMPTION. The £250 Prize Story Oswald Wildridge. 407 

Illustrations bv E. S. Hodgson. 

Martin Harvey . . . . ' . . * 1 14 

Owen Nares 235 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

RETURN ENGAGEMENT, A Walter Prtchard Eaton. 59 

Illustrations by E. F. Sherie. 




Here are Their Reasons Joseph Gollomb. 392 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
SPORTING CHANCE, THE Sydney Hotter. 462 

Illustrations by Chas. Crombie. 
SULTAN TO LAUGH AT, A W. B. Harris. 480 

Illustrations by E. Prater. 

TALE TO TELL, A. A Boxing Story .. ..' ..' ' .. Hylton Cleaver. 17 

Illustrations by J. H. Thorpe. 

Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 

TRICKS OF THE TRADE. Art and " The Artful Dodger " 536 

* . Illustrations by. A. Ferrier. 

UNCHARTED COAST, THE .. A. Conan Doyle. 

II. — A New Light on Old Crimes 65 

III.— The Shadows on the Screen 437 

. Illustrations by Howard Elcock. 
" UNCROWNED KING OF ARABIA, THE." Colonel T. E. Lawrence. 

The Most Romantic Career of Modern Times Lowell Thomas. 40, 141, 251, 330 

Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. . 

WAR OF THE WORLDS THE. An Experiment in Illustration H.G. Wells. 154" 

Illustrations bv Johan Briede. 
WHO LAUGHED LAST ? .. .;• .* Mary Stuart Boyd. 386 

Illustrations bv W. E. Webster . 
WRONG TURN, THE .:• .. W. Bourne Cooke. 572 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 

YELLOW MAGIC . . . . . . . . ' . . . . . . ... . . . F. Britten Austin. 207 

Illustrations by. frank Gillett, R.I. 
YORK'S COLUMN. THE DUKE OF. What Ought to be Done With It? 54 

Illustrations from Photographs and a Drawing. 


(^nnol^ Original from 



C?Ae Life Story of Col. Lawrence 

Uo/d for the First Time 




See Pag« 22 







I* 1 

I ■ ft 

Extract from Mr. Jotliboys Diary No. 20. 

"Cold and sharp this morning with a frosty nip so out to the 
long acre field to catch Tim Maloney returning from the Hunt 
for a pot of ale at the "Cat & Fiddle" A right wily rogue 
is Tim, "Gad^ooKB cried ne on seeing me ' Sure Arrah her- 
self was in them hounds this day, the way they had the run 
destroyed entirety. Devil a bit of scent did ihey get lifted, and 
be jabera, can ye wonder the craturs' noses went astray on them 
with all the field smoking that Chairman you've been after 
giving them.** 

Chairman, is a fine tobacco, made in three strengths ; 
"BoardmanV mild; "Chairman/ 1 medium; "Recorder/' full; and 
is sold by tobacconists everywhere at I/- per oz. 


R. ). LEA. LTD 


Q ii u i na l I ' l uiu 





IF YOU think you can write a Short Story, here is your 
opportunity. Seize it. We offer for the three best Stories in 
this Competition the following prizes :— 

First Prize 
Second Prize - 
Third Prize - 

- £250 

- £100 

- £50 

Other Stories submitted may be bought. 

These prizes are offered 'by GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., 
Proprietors of " The Strand Magazine," " The Grand Magazine/' 
and " John o' London's Weekly/* which will each publish one of the 
Winning Stories. 


I. — No Story is to be less than 3,ooo words or 
more than 6,ooo words in length. 

2.— The Proprietors acquire all British and 
Colonial serial rights in the three winning 
Stories, one of which will be published in 
each of the three publications mentioned 

3. — The Proprietors are to have the right of 
purchasing the serial rights of any Story 
submitted which does not win a prize on 
payment to be agreed upon. 

4. — All Manuscripts must be typewritten, and must 
reach us not later than 1st February, 1920. 

5. — Each Story submitted must be signed with a 
pseudonym. The author's name must not 
appear on the manuscript. The name and 
. address of the author should be enclosed in 
: a sealed envelope, marked on the outside 
with the pseudonym, and the words, 
" Short Story Competition." 

6. — The decision of the judges must be taken 
as final. 


Mr. H. G. WELLS 



You Never Know What You Can Do Until You Try-TRY! 

(^ f\c\cs\<> Original from 

All Manuscripts should be addressed to GEORGE NEW]S^ES/^df-,i^i^|^[g^r^ton Street, 
Strand, London, W.C.2. Mark envelope " Story Competition. 


3g ts« tag, Diversity of Michigan 


JANUARY, 1920. 
Vol. 59. No. 349. 

CAPITAL! Capital! 
Encaw! Encaw!" 
cried .Mrs. Trem- 
Iett -. Biggs, clap- 
ping her plump hands with 
animation." " How good, 
isn't he ?: -Never dream he 
was an jamateuf, would 
you, .now ? Oh, pkase, Mr. 
Guildihg,^ don't -leave the 
piano! Just one more — 
just one. -We are simply dying to hear you 
again, are we not, Sir Marius ? " 

' ' Certainly, certainly, ' ' agreed Marius 
Brandon, hastily: 

As a fact, he would as soon have listened 
to an ass braying in a field as to the efforts 
of ; Mr. Guilding to imitate the current 
music-hall turn ; but, as he murmured 
later on to Ella Crosbie — it staved off worse 
things. Mrs. Tremlett - Biggs was quite 
capable, as he knew by bitter experience, 
of calling upon the party to play forfeits, 
and he might find himself condemned 
to stand in a ring of giggling persons, and 
embrace one of the elderly Misses Pilkins ; 
or take off his shoes in public for the idiotic 
purpose of jumping over them. 

Mr. Guilding, meanwhile, hemmed and 
hawed for the proper lapse of time, and then 
with a far-away expression, manipulating 
the keys with his gaze on the ceiling, said 
in a soft little voice : — 

" My Mother-in-law. A meditation." 

The announcement was followed by an 
explosion of mirth, as though the subject 
announced had never before been treated 
by the professional joker. The performer 
proceeded to meander through any amount 
of verses, interspersed with dialogue, appar- 
ently culled from some jest book of the 
date 1850 or thereabouts, in which the 
married hero, condemned to reside in a 
suburban villa, finds his young wife unequal 

Vol. lix. -1. 



to the task of coping with 
the tradespeople, the ser- 
vants, and her twin infants. 
To two-thirds of the audi- 
ence this theme was, it 
seemed, excruciatingly 
funny, and so eager was 
the applause when the end 
came that there was no 
need for the Hall and tfrp 
Manor House to perjure 
themselves individually or collectively in 
praise of the performance. - f 

Mr. and Mrs. Tremlett- Biggs may be 
best described as belonging to the ammu- 
nocracy. They purchased their estate near 
the village of Endlake about the Second 
year. of the war. The lady was at the head 
of every subscription list, in the van upon 
every committee — eag£r to ^ put ' herself, 
her house, . and her wealth at the service 
of the community ; for, as she was wont to 
phrase it, " we simply gotter win this war." 

When peace came, the Crosbies at the 
Manor House, and Sir Marius Brandon at 
the Hall, were incapable of affronting the 
kindly creature to whom they owed so 
much. But really, her parties were awful. 
Hugh Crosbie, V.C., described them as 
"the limit" — and they were impossible 
to avoid. Marius remarked that they were 
developing a new sport — the art of eluding 
invitations to Goldacres — and that these 
were harder to decline than Greek irregular 
verbs, since the simple but effective method 
of Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs was to rush you. 

" Now/' she would cry, hurrying into the 
room almost before she could be announced, 
" 1 have come to rope you all in ! Nc 
escape, you know — no peace for the wicked, 
as they say. I have collected a most inter- 
esting house-party, and I want you all to 
come up and organize a little fun. 1 won't 
fix a date uncil I have secured you all ! " 



So here they all were, duly assembled. 
There were the vicar and his wife, nobly 
endeavouring to look as if they liked it ; 
there was Sir Marius himself, accompanied 
by the elder sister who kept house for him, 
and a nephew and niece who were on a 
visit. There were a bunch of Crosbies, 
bravely resisting their impulse to sit next 
the Brandons and talk to nobody else ; 
a group of village residents, such as the 
Misses Pilkins, rejoicing in the breaking down 
of social barriers which Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs 
seemed to have achieved ; and, lastly, the 
house-party, a mixed crowd of a wonderful 

" Everyone a genius in his or her way," 
as the beaming hostess had explained to 
Mrs. Reed, the vicar's wife — a woman 
upon whose sensitive face was stamped the 
tragedy of the mother who has lost her only 
son. " Fancy, at present young Guilding 
is just a clerk in my husband's office at 
Cardiff ; shouldn't be surprised if we all 
live to see him a star turn at one of the Halls, 
should you now ? And the two Miss Greens 
— aren't they striking girls ? Both on the 
Boards, my dear, and rising fast ! And, 
of course, Billy Buffles is a violinist, and little 
Miss Carr writes, and Henry Hudson illus- 
trates — all so clever, aren't they ? " Her 
face fairly beamed with triumph as she sur- 
veyed the recipients of her hospitality, and 
Mrs. Reed murmured, " Most interesting." 

" Oh, but I tell them we are every bit 
as interesting down in the country as what 
they are in London,, what with our young 
V.C. and our baronet colonel, who raised 
a battalion off his own bat, as you might 
say " 

The " baronet-colonel " was on the verge 
of tears by the time that Mrs. Tremlett- 
Biggs's stately butler had announced supper. 

" Now, Sir Marius, I am going to be noble 
and give you up," cried the hostess, as he 
dutifully approached her. " The vicar will 
lend me an arm when you've all gone in. 
I want you to take Miss Carr — 1 know your 
tastes are literary ! " 

Marius obediently offered his arm to an 
unassuming girl in white. He had been 
wondering all the evening who she was, 
for she did not conform to what Hugh called 
" the T.-B. type." He had noticed how 
difficult she found it to smile at the humours 
of Mr. Guilding. Still, she was a member 
of the Goldacres house-party, and thus 
could hardly be either aristocratic or inter- 
esting. Her lack of amusement might 
quite likely be the result of egotism. He 
had often been told that authors care to 
talk of nothing but their own work. 

" I hear that you write," he began, with 
that politeness which he ever deemed a 
duty. " I'm afraid I shall have to confess 

straight off that I never read any of your 
work. Could you supply me with the names 
of some of your books ? " 

"Oh, I'm sorry," said she, demurely, 
" but you must try again ! That won't 
do. I could no more supply you with a 
list of my works than you could describe 
to me your sensations when under fire. 
But, in case you find it difficult immediately 
to put forth another conversational feeler, 
may I have a turn ? I have just heard 
something very curious about this village, 
and I want to know whether there is any- 
thing in it." 

Marius turned his grave eyes upon her 
with astonishment. This young . person 
was actually as different as she seemed ! 
He brightened perceptibly. " Go ahead ! 
Any small local knowledge which I ' may 
possess is at your service." 

" But perhaps you belong to thatrlarge 
and no doubt estimable class of mind which 
makes fun of the supernatural ? " 

His face changed, and he started. " By 
no means. But are you going to talk about 
the supernatural ? " 

She hesitated a moment, surprised at 
his altered tone. " Yes, unless you feel 
it too utterly incongruous in this milieu. 
I grant you that it sounds a bit unexpected. 
And if I must make the humiliatihg confes- 
sion, it was by eavesdropping that I came 
by the information which I want confirmed. 
I overheard your wife — or is it your sister ? " 
- — indicating pretty Phyllis Manning seated 

" My niece." 

" Ah, your niece ! She was talking to 
Miss Crosbie, and she said she was deter- 
mined to watch the lych-gate ten days 
hence — on All-Hallow-e'en. Now, why does 
she want to do that ? And why was Miss 
Crosbie so urgent in imploring her not to 
do it ? " 

" I shall not allow her to do it." returned 
the man, bluntly. " But, if I do as you ask, 
and tell you why, you will probably laugh 
at me. Perhaps," he subjoined, after a 
pause, " that will do me good." 

She lifted her eyes to his — eyes of a lovely 
periwinkle blue, which with her dark hair 
made a pleasing effect, and gave distinction 
to her irregular face. " You don't look 
as if people often laughed at you," said 
she, quietly. 

To his own vexation he coloured quite 
hotly. " Takes me for the local Dogberry," 
he thought. " , \Yhen I ope my mouth, 
let no dog bark." Aloud he went on : 
" I have no doubt I need to be laughed 
at for a good many things: But upon this 
subject I decline to permit it." 

She was instantly grave. " That sounds 
formidable. But t promise you that if 


you are 

" I am sure 

m earnest I shall try not to be 


you would not/* was his 
impulsive reply, which sur- 
prised him as he spoke it ; 
for how could he know ? 
However, he had said it , and 
he turned to her, beginning 
his story in a lowered voice. 
" We are geographically 
in England in this village/" 
said he, " but in 
our heart and our 
traditions we are 
thoroughly \V e 1 s h, 
According to a Welsh 
legend, in any church 
dedicated to All Souls 

AU-Hal!ow-e J en, as my niece thinks, but the 
night between All Saints' and All Souls' 
Days — you will see in bodily form ail those 
in the village who will be called to their 
rest before next year at the same date. 
The folks around here largely believe this, 
and there are many tales concerning it- 
I was apt to be very scornful of such things 
until — last year." 

He made a pause, and she said, softly : 
pi Never mind ! " Her voice was notably 
gentle and very individual in tone. w If 
you dislike to speak of it, I will let you off, 
although I am thrilled." 

He met and answered her smile. " Well, 
last year, on All Saints' Day — about ten 
days, as you know, before the Armistice, 
I had been to dine at the Manor House, 
and walked home through the churchyard. 
Have you seen our church ? J ' 

' Yes ; Mrs. Reed took me there yester- 
day. It is very ancient." 

* Very. You will remember that a path 
between two high walls leads up to the 


ftfF Michigan 




lych-gate, and that the south porch of the 
church is in a straight line from thence. 
The churchyard is always used as a short cut 
through the village, and I walked home 
from the Manor House as usual, that way. 
When I got to the porch I went inside it 
for a moment, in order to obtain shelter 
to strike a match to light my pipe. As 
I was doing so I looked up, and there just 
facing me, under the lych-gate through 
which I must shortly pass, I saw Godfrey 
Reed, the vicar's son., in his uniform. When 
he saw that I was looking at him, he raised 
his hand and saluted, with a smile. I 
noticed there were three pips on his cuff, 
instead of two, and I called out, ' Halloa, 
Godfrey, got promotion ? Good biz ! ' He 
did not reply, but turned back and hurried 
off, as if very eager to reach the vicarage, 
which is, as you know, at the farther end 
of the long passage.. I had a moment's 
difficulty with my pipe, but as soon as I 
had it going I hastened after him, and' was 
a little astonished that I failed to overtake 
him. However, I guessed that he must 
be anxious to get in before the house was 
all shut up ; they were not expecting him 
to get leave, and it was late. I went home, 
and next morning I told my sister, who 
lives with me, that Godfrey was home ; 
and directly after breakfast I went round 
to the vicarage. He was not there — had 
never been home. But when I told the 
story, his mother fainted dead -off. I had 
never given a thought to the legend or the 
fatal date. Well, the boy was killed out 
there, the last day before the Armistice. 
He had been promoted captain a fortnight 
before his death." 

Miss Carr's eyes, as he looked searchingly 
into them, told him eloquently how much 
the story impressed her. 

" You believe it ? " he asked. 

" Certainly I believe it." 

" I should hardly tell a story so against 
myself if it were not true. It seems incredible 
that I should never for an instant have 
remembered the local belief. But, you see, 
J didn't attach any importance to it — 

" But now you are realizing that, whatever 
theory you may tack on to it, the fact 
remains. You saw what you saw." 

" I know I saw him. So plainly that no 
least suspicion of his not being there in 
bodily presence visited me ; though, when 
I considered the matter afterwards, I remem- 
bered that there was something abnormal 
in my seeing him so plainly. There was 
not nearly light enough for me to have 
counted the pips on his sleeve." 

" I hope," said she, after a meditative 
silence, " that this storv will not get about 
among " 

He cut in eagerly, " Among our hostess 
and her crowd of freaks." 

She burst into merry laughter, and he 
caught himself up, with some confusion. 
" Well — how should you describe them 
yourself ? " 

" We are rather a menagerie," she con- 
fessed, " but we do give her so much 
satisfaction. This kind of entertainment 
helps her to forget her tragedy. Do you 
know she has had six children, and not one 
of them lived six months ? Her husband 
said to me the other night, ' I'd be bound 
to get the moon for my old missus if she 
fancied .it — she's lost so much.' Isn't that 
rather pathetic ? " 

Marius looked across the table at the 
vulgar, beaming countenance of the lady 
in question ; and saw her with new eyes. 
He let his gaze rest with deep approbation 
upon the face of the girl beside him. 

" But what of this crew of hers ? " said 
he, provocatively — solely in order to hear 
her defence. She responded instantly to the 
prick of his supercilious tone. She told him 
how young Guilding supported, his old 
parents by supplementing his earnings 
in the way they had seen that night. He 
heard how bravely the two Miss Greens, 
their occupation gone, scrubbed hospital 
floors all war - time. He listened with 
increasing appreciation. Little Miss Carr ! 
A mere nobody ; one of those thousand 
undistinguished writers who fill the pages 
of * the penny magazines at prices which 
would make the sweater blush. She was 
opening new doors for Marius. He was 
taking deep interest in a woman for the 
first time since his jilting at three-and- 

" Don't you think," he suggested, as they 
left the supper- table, " that we might go 
now and sit in the conservatory with our 
cigarettes while the young people amuse 
themselves in the way they like best ? " 

She smiled, but shook her head. " I 
am going to bid you good night now and 
slip away. Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs told me 
not to break my rule of early to bed. I am 
not very strong ; in fact, I have recently 
been ill — and I am not equal to these late 

They were in the hall, near the stairfoot, 
and she gave him her hand with a rather 
wistful smile. " Good night, Sir Marius the 
Seer. I wonder whether, if you should go 
to the church-porch again this year, you 
might see me flit past ? But I expect not. 
as I don't belong to Endlake village ; a 
stranger would not count." 

Her words gave the man a queer shock. 
She likely to die ! He could not believe 
it. There was something intensely vital 

a ^lfeltY OF MICHIGAN 


During the following fortnight they saw 
much of each other. She came over to 
lunch at the Hall, and Miss Brandon agreed 
with her brother that she was well-bred and 
interesting. Marius sent to Mudie's for 
a complete catalogue of fiction, but he 
searched it in vain for the title of any book 
that she had written. 

Then he tried Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs. " Do 
tell me about Miss Carr's authorship. What 
does she write ? " 

To his surprise, the estimable lady turned 
a bright pink. " Well, Sir Marius, I should 
love to tell you, but I have made a promise, 1 ' 
she stammered. '* I have given my solemn 
word not to talk of her writings — in short, 
I must beg of you not to mention the 
subject." She broke off in confusion, and 
added, laughing nervously, " I don't know 
what you will think of me, it seems so rude 
to refuse your very natural request/' 

" Not at all, I assure you. I honour 
you for keeping your word to Miss Carr " 

" Oh, Sir Marius, you are always so kind ! 
Your kindness makes it harder than ever 
for me to hold out — but, you see, it is not 
as if Madeline was well and strong. She 
has had a bad breakdown — sorrow and 
overwork \ and so much depends upon her 
not being distressed; so if you would be 
so very good as not to press me — for, to 
own the truth, I'm a poor hand at keeping 
a secret." 

It was after this conversation that Marius 
remarked to his sister, " I shall grow quite 
fond of Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs if we see much 
more of her." 

He brooded over the thought of the girl's 
frail health ; and her words to Him, about 
seeing her flit past, lingered uncomfort- 
ably in his memory, until he was almost 
persuaded that it might be well for him to 
repair to the churchyard on the fatal night, 
merely in order to reassure her by telling, 
her afterwards that he had not seen her 

Meanwhile he spoke seriously to his 
niece, Phyllis, on the necessity for silence 
respecting the local tradition and his own 
experience. He reminded her that nothing 
excites people so much as an authentic 
ghost story, and pointed out that the least 
indiscretion might draw to the churchyard 
a noisy party, armed with banjos and comic 

She earnestly promised to say nothing 
that could lead to this horrible result ; and 
when the date came round he felt fairly 
certain that the secret had not leaked out, 
for they all met at the Manor House that 
evening, and nothing was said upon the 

Kind Mrs. Crosbie had felt it incumbent 
upon her to issue to Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs 

and her whole party that invitation for 
which she knew the poor lady longed. 
They were all there, and Marius thought 
Miss Carr looked less fragile. Her face 
had more colour and her eyes more light 
than when he saw her first. In fact, he 
had reached the point of considering her 
in the light of the future Lady Brandon. 
Yet, snobbery or not, he could not blind 
himself to the uncomfortable results of 
choosing a wife from the Goldacres house- 
party ! His mind would run upon a wedding 
with Mr. Guilding to entertain the guests. 

Miss Carr was charming, but she was 
entirely obscure — by birth — or she would not 
have been glad of an invitation to Goldacres ; 
and in her profession she was evidently 
only a cut above a girl clerk. The reticence 
of Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs had made him pretty 
certain that the young authoress was what 
is known in the writing world as a '* ghost " 
— one who supplies plots and situations 
for the well-known writer, and whose name 
never appears. It seemed a bit of a come- 
down for him, at feur-and-thirty, to fall 
so deeply in love with a girl of no family 
as to lose all sense of what his position 
demanded. But he felt his danger. 

Everything she said or did that night 
pleased him absurdly. She drew him like 
a magnet ; and he had the feeling that, 
should they come together, this power of 
attraction would increase, rather than 
diminish. It was a charm which suggested 
endless reserves behind. 

He was curiously little conceited for a 
man who had been master of the title and 
the estates since his teens ; but he could 
not help knowing that he was a " catch " 
in the matrimonial market. With Madeline 
Carr he had not the least touch of the dis- 
comfort of being angled for. She was 
friendly — even cordial — but there was an 

As the evening wore on he realized that 
he must either ask this girl to be his wife, 
or go away and never see her again. His 
heart was conscious of a fierce pang when 
she rose at a very early hour to slip away 
home — bringing back to his mind that 
dread concerning her health which he had 
been pushing into the background. He 
had to let her go alone, for he had promised 
Mrs. Crosbie to act in a charade ; and she 
achieved her escape almost unnoticed. 

She, on her side, found it so hard to tear 
herself away from him that she felt quite 
uncomfortable. But she had an appoint- 
ment to keep, and so was forced to steel 
her heart. During her visit to Goldacres, 
a friendship had grown up between her 
and the vicar's wife. Mrs. Reed was a 
lonely woman --since her bereavement 
tragicalj^^^y Madeline's sympathy had 



gone out to her ; and when she confided to 
the girl her passionate desire to go that 
night to the churchyard, but confessed that 
she would be afraid to watch alone for fear 
lest she might see — well, other things than 
Godfrey — Madeline had at once volunteered 
to be her companion. Mr. Reed not only 
declined the vigil, but disapproved of the 

The craving mother had a wistful, forlorn 
hope that, as Godfrey had come once, he 
might conceivably again visit the little grey 
church so intimately connected with all he 
held most dear. And on that night, so it is 
said, all the souls go wandering ; he would 
come if he could, she knew, she felt it. 

They made a plan by means of which they 
could keep watch, themselves unseen. 

Near the west end of the ancient church, 
in the south wall — that is to say, between the 
south porch and the tower — there was what 
is known as a " low-side " window ; one of 
those windows whose exact original purpose 
remains obscure : cut very near the ground, 
so that it is easy to see either in or out of the 
church through it. Mrs. Reed's idea was 
that she and Madeline, warmly clad, should 
lock themselves into the church, and watch 
the lych-gate through the low-side window. 

The plan was quite easy of accomplish- 
ment, since Mrs. Reed had the keys of the 
church in her charge. She seemed to think 
it was more probable that Godfrey, if he 
came, should show himself within the 
building, in his accustomed place in the 
vicarage pew. 

The two ladies reached the church soon 
after eleven, before the return of any of the 
guests from the party, and entered it quite 

It was not a very dark night, but the light 
varied, for clouds drove continually across 
the waning moon. Madeline, as she sat in 
her warm wraps, her delicately-cut chin* 
resting on her hand, leaning forward in 
earnest contemplation, found that her mind 
would not remain focused upon the matter 
in hand, but would stray to the thought 
of Sir Man us. She had all the novelist's 
eagerness for the observation of character, 
and she found this man an absorbing study. 

Here was a typical Briton of the upper 
class. Previous to the war, his life had been 
the narrow, limited life of a country gentle- 
man. He had not been a soldier at all. 
Yet, when the great adventure presented 
itself, he had embraced it with both hands — 
which seemed to show how superficial was 
the narrowness, how deep the intrinsic 
nobility. This year, as she was becoming 
aware, he was having another experience, 
just as new to him as war. He was falling 
in love with a girl who, as he believed, did 
not belong to his own class. Would he 

show, in this matter also, the spirit of the 
paladin ? 

She thought of him so earnestly that she 
almost felt as if her thoughts must draw 
him to her in bodily presence. 

According to agreement, she was watching 
the lych-gate, and Mrs. Reed, who was 
strung to a high point, was keeping her eyes 
fixed upon the place wherein, as little boy, 
big boy, and young man, Godfrey had been 
used to sit. As the minutes wore on, the 
tension of the waiting became more and 
more acute. The old church seemed full of 
soft breathings — of stirrings, so low that one 
could hardly describe them. A sudden loud 
sighing noise startled Madeline horribly, 
until she realized that it was only the church 
clock preparing to strike midnight. The 
long, slow strokes fell heavily upon the 
silence. There was a sense of expectation — 
almost of exaltation — anything might happen 
now — and in fact there was the sound of 
footsteps — many footsteps, cautiously sub- 
dued — the footsteps of those who crept, 

timidly — who hardly dared Ah, could 

it be the approaching band of souls ? 

Mrs. Reed's breath came in sobbing gasps 
— those arriving, whoever they were, had 
entered the porch. There was a scuffling 
noise — the murmur of speech — and then, 
shockingly, an unmistakable giggle. 

Madeline sprang to her feet. Mrs. Reed 
clutched her wrist convulsively. *" You 
locked the door, Madeline ? " 

" Yes, I locked it. Oh, how unspeakable ! 
Listen ! It is the Goldacres crowd, I feel 
sure of it ! How could they have heard 
about it ? " 

She hacF hardly spoken before the figure 
of a man, muffled to the eyes, came strolling 
past the window. 

He was staring directly in, and it seemed 
impossible that he should not descry them ; 
but the moon shone across the roof of the 
nave, and flung the interior of the church 
into pitch-black shadow. 

" Don't stir — don't move, or he'll see us," 
she contrived to whisper, the drops breaking 
out upon her forehead as Mr. Guilding — who 
was loudly whistling " Any time's kissing- 
time," paused, stooped, and steadily gazed 

"" 1 say," he called out, over his shoulder, 
" if we could open this window, we might 
get inside. It would be warmer in here than 
that stony porch ! " He passed his hand 
round the panes, which fortunately were not 
made to open. 

" Oh, be quiet ! " came the voice of Connie 
Green. M Don't go breaking something, or 
they'll know we've been here. Do come back 
and sit down — or go home ! How can you 
suppose anything will happen if you make 

this "iMvfelTY OF MICHIGAN 


He lingered a moment and then turned 
reluctantly away. Not an instant too soon ; 
for the unlooked-for intrusion had been 
altogether too much for the strained nerves 
of Mrs. Reed, and she slipped from her chair 
in a dead faint. 

Even Madeline, usually self-possessed, felt 
herself trembling as she stooped over the 
unconscious lady and loosened the scarf 
from about her throat. She had no choice 
but to remain where she was, in perfect 
silence, until the invalid came round. She 
must needs stay there, crouched upon the 
ground, Mrs. Reed's head in her lap, while 
scuffling, giggling, and occasional squeals 
sounded from the porch, interspersed, as time 
wore on, with what sounded like wrangling. 
Then, very suddenly, the vicar's wife stirred, 
started, and before Madeline could prevent 
it, gave out a long, loud wailing cry which 
echoed along the aisles, and was answered, 
after a moment's breathless pause, by a 
series of little shrieks from outside, followed 
by a wild stampede. 

In her wrought-up condition, the desire to 
laugh fought in Madeline with the desire 
to weep. She dreaded lest she should 
become hysterical, but she was saved by the 
necessity of soothing the trembling mother, 
and assuring her that the intruders were gone 

" I can't bear any more of it, Madeline — 
you must take me home," sobbed Mrs. Reed. 
,J My nerves are all to pieces. My husband 
was right to try and persuade me not to 
come. Oh, are you sure they are all gone ? " 

" If you will wait here just a few minutes, 
1 will slip out quietly and reconnoitre," replied 
the girl. 

" Yes — very* well — I suppose you had 
better — but don't go out of call," begged the 
poor thing. 

Madeline rose, crept to the door, listened 
intently, and then turned the key, which 
slipped round silently, for Mrs. Reed had 
oiled it carefully the day before. 

The soft west-country wind blew gratefully 
on her hot face, and she pushed back the 
hood of her long cloak, advanced to the 
entrance of the porch, and, her two hands 
upon the jambs of the outer arch, leaned 
forth and breathed deeply. There, before 
her, lay the mysterious night, and it struck 
awe into her soul. It was easy to believe 
that the air was filled with unseen presences — 
there was motion and murmur all about 
her, as she looked right and left, with perhaps 
a wistful hope in her that the man who filled 
her thoughts might be somewhere near ; 
although, if he had ventured, she knew that 
the presence of the Goldacres crowd must 
have driven him away again. 

The clouds were rushing across the moon's 
face, and she made another step forward, 

lifting up her arms and head to the heavens 
to see whether it rained. Then, satisfied 
that it did not, she retreated without noise 
into the church, swallowed in the shadows 
as soon as she was under the roof. 

The man who was standing in the shelter 
of the lych-gate, blotted in its dense, im- 
penetrable blackness, struck his fist over his 
heart with a choked cry, turned and stumbled 
away like a creature mortally stricken. 

The following day Sir Marius presented 
himself at Goldacres in the early afternoon. 
Madeline Carr was startled by his changed 
appearance. His eyes were sunk, his face 
haggard, his whole demeanour feverish and 
unlike himself. 

He found everyone at home, and the very 
atmosphere tingling with the tremendous 
thrill of the story told by those who had 
ventured to £he churchyard the previous 
evening. The piercing, unearthly cry from 
the interior of the lark, empty church could 
proceed only from a soul in torment ! Many 
and wild were the opinions held and theories 
advanced concerning it. 

Marius listened grimly to the story, which 
cleared up for him the mystery of the sudden 
and apparently causeless flight of the psychic 

He made but little comment, except to 
agree — so warmly as to flatter her — with 
Mrs. Tremlett-Biggs's dictum that " what- 
ever they may have heard they brought it 
on themselves, and it was far better not to 
be meddling with these things." 

He turned presently, under cover 4fethe 
loud talk, to Miss Carr, who sat next nim. 
" You were not of the party ? " he asked, in 
a stiff, curiously-suppressed tone ; and when 
she replied : " No, I was not," he turned 
very pale ; but all he said was : — 
" " So I supposed." 

There was a pause, in which it seemed to 
her as if the man's very thoughts reached 
out and touched her, so vivid was her "con- 
sciousness of his presence. Then he mur- 
mured : — 

" I must speak to you alone. Can we 
slip out into the conservatory ? " 

She glanced around. In the babel of 
chatter they were for the moment unnoticed ; 
and she rose and went, he following, into the 
flower-scented warmth of the opulent winter- 
garden which was the pride of the master 
of Goldacres, 

He made not at all the kind of wooing for 
which Madeline had been prepared. His 
manner, usually so calm, was charged with a 
despairing kind of vehemence — the urgency 
of one who will take no denial. 

4 ' But this is very Imprudent," said the 
girl, j^ischievousJ.yr AtfrWltathldo vou know 



of me, except that I am a member of this 
menagerie; of cranks ? Ought you not to 
make inquiries ? JP 

11 I have made observations instead. One 
finds out more that way." 

Her lips parted in 
a rapturous smile. 
' l What a lovely 
tiling to say/' she 

He began to 
tremble, tH Made- 
line, say yes — say 
yes I Don't keep 
me waiting will 
you ? Think how 
short life is — how 
little time we may 
have in which to" be 
together ! I want 
you to marry me 
now — -and let me 
take you to the 
South of France." 

She felt touched 
and her heart went 
out to him. 

M But first/' said 
she, ,r there is an 
awful revelation to 
be made, It is not 
so hard as it might 
have been, for I 
overheard you say- 
ing that you like 
the writings of the 
novelist who calls 
he^fc Gray Moor. 
\\m— I am Gray 
Moor. I wrote those 

He started, and 
gazed upon her half 
in worship, half in 
shame- rt You merm 
that you use a 
pseudonym ? " 

" Yes. It saves 
such a lot of an un- 
comfortable kind of 
fame. One can go 
about, as it were, 
unchallenged* Now 
to tell you who I 
am . M y fat her was 

that Lord George Carr who was killed in 
the Boer War, rather magnificently if you 
remember ? He left his family badly off 
financially as well as in other ways. My 
brother fell in 1915, and I have had hard 
work to keep his boy at Eton, I want you 
to understand that I shall feel it my duty to 
continue doing tliis — that Lionel's children 
must be a tax upon me for some years " 

" Upon us y you mean/' he replied, drawing 
her into his arms, so much moved, and so 
abased, that he could hardly utter the words. 

*' Now," she demanded, after a while, ic do 
you feel a bit more cheery ? When I first saw 



you I thought you had come to make some ter- 
rible announcement. Was it only the dread 
of committing yourself to a tnSsailiance ? " 

He seemed to her at a loss lor a reply. 

* There is something/' she persisted, 
earnestly, E * something more than that. 
You look quite ill — worse than I do, I believe, 
in spite of my baviup been up all night I " 

%RffiiFol ! 'a!fe!S : '' Y ° u ' too ''' 



'" Why, were you? " she broke oh\ colour- stood with your hands extended to me as 

ing warmly. ki Surely yo* did not go to the though you would take farewell— and then 

churchyard too, did you ? Ah, 1 see by you raised those same hands to heaven, look- 

youx face that you did ! Well, I told you a ing up iike a saint in a picture, as if telling 

half -truth just now — I did not go with the me to follow you ? Do you realize that I 

thought I had 

seen y ou rwraith ? 


I thought — I 

' That if we 


were to have 

some time to- 

gether here, you 

4^r - ■• 

had better make 

haste/ 1 she whis- 

T^Bht^^^ W^ 


mm flh h 

4. "^^ flHk 

J ' Yes! Yes!" 

She put her 

arms about his 

neck. "But, dear 

man, I am not a 

M Km B^ _ 

delicate woman 

t *im n*- 

at ail ! I have 

been ill, that's all 

m Umm 

— and I'm nearly 


well now I Are 

you prepared to 

undertake a 


union that may 


last for years and 

1* '^^ai mat 


years ? To have* 

me still on hand 

■ ' ' 5 ', vb ' 

when 1 grow uM 

and ugly ? >P 



i * fttammm*. 

His reply, 
though without 
words, was elo- 
quent enough. 
" What is borne 

^^^ 4' mW ml Ki mmF 

in upon me/' he 

mMmk mm J 

said, presently, 

9^^ f J mmj >\ 

" is the convic- 


tion that it is 

■ I 

always best not 


to seek any 


psychic experi- 


ence. One gets 

so worked up 
that one be- 


comes the prey 

1 of delusions. No 



11 Vet last 

1 -oldacres crowd — indeed, I had no idea they night's experience made you understand 

were going, and don't even yet understand yourself ? J ' 

how they got wind of it. But you have f You are right," he answered, in a deep 

now acquired the right to hear exactly what voice. *' It showed me to myself, a petly- 

I did do. 1 * minded ass — a contemptible fool I saw in 

Marius listened voraciously to her account a flash how short time is, and what sure the 

of her vigil with the vicar's wile, things that really m&Vk 

" And you came out into the porch, alone ? " " Tl|ifl^|T(flpf;'t^^|*gHi0 B ^$j||i;<jy$d the gate of 

he stammered. ' You — your living se 

]| Vuu Me for you and me/ 1 




HE gay and ex- 
quisite music aad 
merry quips and 
jokes of the Gil- 
bert and Sullivan 
operas — f resh 
during this New 
Year season as they were thirty 
and forty years ago — have once 
again taken the town by storm. 
The general beauty of decoration 
in the present production excels 
all previous records, and forms an 
ideal background for the dresses 
designed by Mr. Percy Anderson, 
which show a loveliness undreamed 
of thirty years ago, when the 
original designs for the first 
performances of "The 
Gondol iers ' ' and ' ' Th e 
Yeomen of the Guard 
were made — embodying 
Sir W, S. Gilbert's con- 
ception of each character 
as seen in his mind's 

Readers will he spe- 
cially interested to see 
some of these early cos- 
tume drawings of Mr. 
Percy Anderson* s p which, 
executed in faint water- 
colour, with scraps of 
gaily-hued silk, cloth, 
and wool, still 
pinned to the edges 
as guides to the 
costumier for ma- 
terial and colour, 
are reproduced amongst 
the i litis t rations, together 
with some new 1919 
sketches which show 
the immeasurably greater 
freedom and imagina- 
tion with which the 
famous designer of 
94 Chu Chin Chow M re- 
nown, while keeping to 


Illustrated by draw 

ings by the late 


costume designs by 

the old Savoy traditions, now 
carries out such work* 

Sir W. S. Gilbert's exact method 
of suggesting the effect he wanted 
is clearly seen in the two interest- 
ing sketches for characters in 
"The Grand Duke/' which were 
drawn over twenty years ago on 
stray bits of paper in pen and 
ink, and sent to Mr. Anderson, 
who lately came across them 
again when turning out som& 



That fine old Savoyard, Mr. H. 

A. Lytton, has some recollections 

of the old days when "on 

tour, which are highly 


Once when playing 
John Wellington Wells in 
ri The Sorcerer M (where 
it will be recollected that 
in the last act the Sor- 
cerer disappears through 
a trapdoor amidst red 
fire) something went 
wrong with the trap and 
it stuck when he had 
only disappeared half 
way ! There was no- 
thing for it but to climb 
Out, and walk ignoihin- 
ion sly off the stage. As 
he did so a voice from 
the front was heard to 
exclaim, "Hell's full! "— 
"a remark," says Mr. 
Ly 1 1 on , " whic h gain ed 
the greatest applause of 
the evening/' An ardent 
believer in " luck/ 1 Mr. 
Lytton declares that his 
lucky number is thirteen. 
He signed his first con- 
f.. tract with the late Mr, 

W0F*WS,N CArte on the 




13th of the month, and that 
he rightly regards as a very 
special piece of luck ! Then 
when specially hard up tie 
scraped together all he could 
and went off with some friends 
to Monte Carlo. Going straight 
to the tables, he planked down 
all he had on No. 13, and won 
enough to spend a delightful 
holiday on the proceeds ! He 
was in London thirteen years, 
then played out of London for 
thirteen years. The telephone 
number of his house starts 
with thirteen, and to complete 
the story, when recently on 
tour he bought up all 
the boots he could lay 
hands on at the pro- 
vincial towns through 
which they passed, 
against a rainy day. 
and on counting up 
the number, of which 
he had kept no count, 
found that they 
amounted to thirteen! 
His talent for 
"making up" amounts 
to genius, as for ex- 
ample, in "The Pirates of Penzance/' in 
successfully depicting two such widely-con- 
t Tasting individuals as the dapper little 
Major-General — a little cock-sparrow of a 
man — and the towering Pirate King, a part 


A *-&*+*& 1 JL 

/ 4L*U, £ <W«/ 


in which, with the help of 
various mechanical aids — 
faked shoulders, and the like 
— he performs the perfectly 
amazing feat of 'making up" 
his height to six feet two, 

Mr. Lytton and his com- 
pany had some rather rough 
times when on tour during the 
war, and at one time were 
constantly in the thick of 
Zeppelin raids. They were at 
Sheffield when the town was 
bombed, and on going on to 
Hull met with a similarly 
warm reception, and on ar- 
rival in London within a few 
days were 
called on t>> 
face another 
severe raid, 
causing poor 
Fred Billing- 
ton — that 
much -missed 
who shared 
his dressiixg- 
r o o m — to 
" Harry t J 
believe the Kaiser's got our tour I " 

** *-#*£#»* <i*«- *t *t **• / * 


*j 1*4* f C fty t/Wi* £ &TW.** ft* +*& #**& 

"^ *4** &** £***&. hyffr&it 


His n&tcs rtad: — 

<i) Thi* isthe re-considered Prinze of Monte Carta Very fair Rami! its wig, I think, to 
contrast with Harringrou's hLn k Louis XIV\ wig. This quite i^alUes tlie character. 

The Prince's dress should be of excellent quality— very fay and ornate. The Princess 
should wear a ilreisof tlie same period (or nearly), but so made as ta allow of her dancing a 
wild jig,— No train, q ■ ■ i r 

{2) This is my idea of the six nobles. Of course you will greatly improve upon tfatse crude 



Listening to the recollections of incidents 
which happened over forty years ago, there 

is a fascination in 
learning from a 
close family friend 
how W. S. Gilbert, 
when at work 011 
"The Mikado/' 
went round to see 
her with the verses 
for ' Three Little 
Maids from School 
are We M in his 

Taking them out 
he read them aloud 
and awaited her 
verdict— which 
predicted a great 
success, "Ah!" 
he replied, doubt in 
his eyes, "I wonder 
- — I wonder!" The 
greatest writers are 
often the worst 
judges of what will 
prove popular in 
their own work. 

It was for the 
friend that 



<fi H Jl > ^ J» J J 




S^yM-lKW^J-i^S -u.? 


he drew an admirable caricature of himself in 
the manner of the " Bab Ballads" illustrations, 
with a large head — an excellent likeness* — - 
and dwindling body, on a treasured fan which 
already bore sketches by Sir John Tenniel, 
du Maurier, Lin ley Sam bourne, and others, 
prompting the characteristic note which 
accompanied the return, of the fan, and ran 
as follows : "I have done my best, but I 
am afraid that my right hand has lost the 
little cunning it once possessed, Certainly 
I have failed to impart to the individual 
represented any expression of that modesty 
and diffidence which he should feel at finding 
himself in such distinguished society; 1 ' h This 
interesting drawing is reproduced, 

** The Lady of the Fan," to whom the 
writer is indebted for many charming re- 
collections, having the double misfortune to 

lose both husband and almost all her income 
at one blow, was carried off by W, S. Gilbert 
and his warm-hearted wife and kept with 
them for weeks, while her own house and 
furniture were sold, and a tiny residence 
suited to her slender 
resources found and 
fitted up for her. 
Here W. S. Gilbert 
worked, as she - de- 
scribes it, V Like a 
carpenter 1 " He hung 
pictures, and did in- 
numerable odd jobs, to 
make the little house 
look like a home, and 
noticing a bare space 
in the sitting-room, for 
all the large furniture 
had been sold, he sent 
a couple of exquisite 
little Chippendale book- 
case-cabinets to fill the 
gap, which still stand 
where lie placed them, 
to hold her favourite 




"by gilbert on a 




Apropos of the writing of " The Yeomen 
of the Guard," it seems that Sir William 
Gilbert used to attribute his first inspiration 
for that most famous of duets between tho 
Merry Man and his Maid, u I have a Song to 
Si Tig O ! " to an old Cornish chanty sung by 
the sailors on board his yacht. It was a 
great favourite of his, and is so quaint 
and altogether delightful that a friend who 
has often sung in it with the Gilberts and 
some party of young friends — Sir William 
leading as " Questioner " — has most kindly 
copied it out from memory — for it has never 
before, she thinks, been written down. 

It runs as follows : — 

Come and I will *;ing yon. 
What will you sing me ? 
I will slog you twelve O E 
What is your twelve O ? 
Twelve are the twelve Apostles* 

Eleven of them have gone to Heaven, 
Ten arc the Ten Commandments, 
Nine is the Moonlight bright and clear, 
Eight are the eight Archangels, 
Seven are the seven stars in the sky. 
Sis are the chei 1 ful Waiters, 

F wrei^fw^Mffl boat ' 






Four are the Gospol Preachers, 
Three of them are strangers, 
Two of them are lily-white maids, 
Pressed all in green O 1 
One of them is all alone 
And ever will remain so* 

The way it is sung is : — 

1st Singer : 
H ' Come and I will sing you.*' 

QrESTioxER (the same dinger throughout) : 
" What will you sing me ? " 

ist Singer : 
11 I will sing you one ! JJ 

Questioner : 
" What is your one O ? " 

ist Singer : 
" One of them is all alone 
And ever will remain so/ 1 

Chorus : 

" One of them is all alone 
And ever will remain so/* 

2ND Singer : 

** Come and I will sing you/ 1 

Questioner : 
" " What will you sing me ? " 

5Si> Singer : 

<f I will sing yon two O ! " 

Questioner : 

4r What is your Two Q ? IJ 

2nd Singer ; 

*' Two of them are lily-white maids 
Dressed all in green O ! " 

Chorus : 

if One of them is all alone 
And ever will remain so/' 

And so on throughout. 

Now, it seems that there was an informal 
pact between \\\ S. Gilbert and Arthur 
Sullivan that when the former handed a 
libretto to the latter he should never £ive 
him any sviggention as to a rhythm or air 
which might be running in Ms head whilst 
writing it, lest it should throw out the other's 
musical inspiration set in motion by the 

When the il Merryman pi song was handed 
to Sir Arthur, however, he declared that for 
a time it battled him completely, and he 
finally went to Gilbert to ask if he could 
give him any clue as to his own source of 

col. Fairfax's costume in the present revival, 
of "the yeomen of the guard/' 

by Google 

Original from 



inspiration on the chance that he 
could "dip a bucket in the same 
well ! " 

" I will give you one O ! " chanted 
W. S. Gilbert, softly. 

** I have it I Of course! *' swiftly 
replied Arthur Sullivan, and the melo- 
diously ingenious number which has 
held audiences spellbound in five 
continents was the result, 


Some nine -and -twenty years ago 
the Gilberts moved to their beautiful 
house, Grim's Dyke, near Harrow, 
where they continued to entertain 
most hospitably, and here Lady 
Gilbert still lives. 

It is a storehouse of treasures, 
many of which have a history con- 
nected With the operas, while the 
very arrangement of the rooms will 
often recall some whimsical Gilbert ian 
jest or fancy ! There is a charming 
alcove in the stairs leading from the 
billiard -room to a long drawing-room, 
scene in the old days of many a de- 
lightful dance, and this Sir William 
had fitted up with charming rose 
brocade-covered cushions and softly- 
shaded lamps, and quaintly dubbed 
11 The Flirtorium ! " 

As quite a young man, W\ S. 
Gilbert served for a short time in 
the Royal Naval Reserve, and later 
he owned a yacht in which he and 
his wife cruised about for seven suc- 
cessive summers, and the keen love 
of the sea which so constantly peeps 
out in his work was only equalled by his 
acquaintance with all seafaring lore. His 
knowledge of ships and shipping astonished 
even sailors. 

In complicated rigging he took special 
delight, and one of the greatest treasures at 
Grim's Dyke is a fifteen- foot- long model of the 
dldQueen, who played herpart in Nelson's day, 
from which the after- part of H,M.S, Pinafore 
was exactly copied for the first revival of 
the opera. It is still kept in perfect order by 
the Rising Expert of the Admiralty Museum 
at Whitehall, Mr. John Smith, who last year 
spent his three weeks' summer holiday at 
Grim's Dyke, working several hours a day 
upon this beautiful piece of handicraft, 
which— standing in the hall — is an object of 
much interest to visitors, who seldom fail to 
ask its history. In the billiard- room — the 
walls of which are lined with large black frames 
containing portraits of the original members 




of the casts of the first productions of the 
operas, one also sees the Headsman's Block 
and Axe used in the first production of M The 
Yeomen of the Guard/' and the huge gong 
used in the same play, which, when struck, 
rings for four minutes, while the original 
drawings made to illustrate the " Bab 
Ballads M hang in long narrow frames on 
either side of the wide window. 

At a time when Limericks were in the air, 
a group of young people seated on the lawn 
were quoting them to one another while 
awaiting tea, when, just as the tea-kettle 
and tray of cakes appeared, Sir William 
neatly interposed with the following : — - 

There was a young lady of Gilliam, 
Who snt down to tea by Sir Will um. 

She said tf We're not Mummies, 

We've all of us Tummies, 
And Now is the Moment to Fill 'Em t " 

by Google 

Original from 




man wrapped in a 
great - coat and a 
woollen muffler sat 
in a high- backed chair be- 
side his cottage door, a ad 
a teardrop was slowly 
rolling its way down 
either cheek. After a 
little while his thin lips 
suddenly tightened in piti- 
ful distress and he lifted 
his stick vexatiously and 
brought it down again 
with a crack upon the' ground. 
And then he began to mutter 
wearilv to himself : — 

"Oh, the pity of it! Nobody 
ever believes. Nobody ever be- 
lieves, and you could have shown 
them. 1 ' 

A young man suddenly appear- 
ing from an outhouse stopped to 
cast an inquisitive glance at 
him. He was a fellow of power- 
ful build, six-foot-two in his 
boots, but his look was somehow not quite 
that of the country and not quite that of 
the town. It was, if anything, the look of a 
man who has lived too long alone and who, 
as a consequence, is not quite as other men. 
His eyes were listless, and there was at that 
moment the silly kind of smile at his lips that 
one associates with the mentally deficient, 

At last he put down the carpet hag he was 
carrying and came to the old man's chair. 

'* What are you crying for ? " 

The old man pointed petulantly to the 
paper on the ground. 

" You've seen, "aven't you ? Don't you 
ever read the news ? John Crockett is 
champion of England. He won the belt 
last night. J might have been the father of 
the champion heavy-weight of England, and 
instead — to the end of my days I shall 
always have fo get up and cook my own 

" The pity of it," he said again. " The 
pity of it. Nobody will ever believe. The 
folk in London will never know that my son 
was the only man who ever beat John 

He turned and shook his stick threaten- 

You might have been champion of 
England," he cried, in sudden desperation, 
94 and, instead, you're only the village 

The voung man looked at him once and 






f£fam&rm4*d hif 




lifted a warning finger I 
then he glanced up at the 
windows of cottages round 
about as if in fear that 
somebody would be look- 
ing out, and thinking it 
all a very fine joke. But 
this was not so, and accord- 
ing! y he shook his head 
and looked down again 
quizzically at the old 

-< You mustn't cry like 

that/' he said at last. 

'* Don't you know- that's 

naughty ? Someone'!! see 

will cry,*' snapped the old 
man. " It's something to cry 
abotit. I wanted to be the 
father of a champion like Peter 

The young man gave a whim- 
sical smile and felt in his pocket. 
Finally he produced a shilling, 

" You get old Solly to drive 
you into Packton this afternoon* 
And here's a shilling. You get yourself some 
sweets and go to the pictures/' 

^ie turned away and, picking up his carpet 
bag, went slowly out of the kitchen-garden 
through a little gate and out into the road. 
He did not bid good-bye to the old man, but 
he glanced at him once with his odd, lop-sided 
smile, then started off towards the village* 
As he went all kinds of people called to him 
teasingly from shop doorways and the 
windows of houses. They all had something 
funny to say about the championship of 
England, and all of them waved a morning 
paper, and to some he tossed his' head with a 
sheepish grin, whilst those who met him in 
the street and laid hold of him, he shook off 
with a kind of good-humoured impatience, 
and so in the end he came to the shed of 
corrugated iron that was his workshop, 
opened the door with a key, and went inside. 
He was alone at last. He sat down on a 
bench and rested his elbows upon his knees, 
and there he stayed for longer than you 
might think, with his head propped in his 
hands like the new boy at a school who is 
weary to death of teasing. 

Long after he was left alone the old man 
still sat sorrowfully outside his cottage, 
looking uncertainly at the shilling and drying 
his tears with the back of his hand, and every 
time anyone passed along the road he looked 
up with a challenging stare- None of those 

who i^teriwy?HBBfr ™ th him ' 



but he knew very well what everybody who 
looked his way would be thinking, and in the 
evening,- when he made his way to the 
Gardeners' Anns, and they sat round about 
•him with their pots of beer, he expected that 
'they would find the courage in one another's 
presence to say it, just as they had the 
evening before ; — 

" What, Davy's boy beat our John 
Crockett ? William ? Why, William couldn't 
beat an egg ! " 

So he was sitting, a disappointed, lonely 
figure, when he was suddenly conscious of 
being watched, and he turned his head to 
where a steep grassy slope led down from the 
church towards his garden, and on the top of 
.the slope, as if he had just come through the 
village graveyard, he saw a man. 

He was a little man, and for a while he 
did not speak. He merely looked, and the 
old man looked back at him. At last the 
Btranger began to come toward him, and 
the old man saw that he was holding a 
little quill toothpick between his teeth, 
and moving it this way and that with his 
tongue, much as a man chews gum. He had 
rather the cut of a racecourse tout of some 
respectability, but he held himself stiffly 
erect a^ he came towards Davy with his 
hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat. 

".So this," said he, moving his toothpick 
to one side- of his mouth and speaking with 
the other, " this little village here is where 
John Crockett was born and bred ? " 
. Davy looked at him with a tear-stained 
countenance and was silent. The little man 
spoke again. 

" What did they feed him on ? " 

*' I can't hear properly what you say," 
Davy complained. " I'm 'ard of 'earing." 
. " I say," repeated the other, " that I am 
interested to know that this is the village 
where John Crockett was born_and bred." 

The old man heard this time. 

" That's nothing," he answered, passion- 
ately. " The only man who ever beat John 
Crockett lives in this house f " 

He had half risen out of his chair with 
eagerness. To his astonishment the stranger 
showed no extreme surprise. 

" I'll come a bit nearer," said he. " Un- 
less I am very much mistaken, I'm wanting 
to talk to you." 

He came into the garden, glancing keenly 
at the cottage. 

" It isn't very big," said he at last. " Is 
he in ? " 

The old man explained, and meanwhile 
the stranger settled himself upon a barrel. 

" This man who beat John Crockett ? " 
he began. " Can you tell me who he is ? " 

The old man began to quiver with excite- 

M It's my own boy," he said, with an 

by Google 

emphatic gesture. " " Nobody here will ever 
believe me. But It's true. It's true. William 
Saxby. He beat John Crockett:"' 

The other's keen eyes never left his face. 
They were eyes like gimlets, and they bored 
their way deep into the old man's soul £hd 
found it honest. He spoke quietly but with 
peculiar insistence. 

" When did he beat him ? " 

A queer look of arixiety came over Davy's 
face. This was the question they always 
asked him, and when he had answered them 
they always looked at him with a kind of 
pitying amusement, waited a moment, made 
some silly teasing answer, and then went 
smiling upon their way. He knew just how 
it was going to be, and he began to stammer 
a little. 

" They were at school together," he 
answered. " They are just of an age ; and 
they fought one day in the lane there beside 
the Church. I saw them myself. There was 
nobody else who dared to fight him. He was 
so quarrelsome — a bullying boy. But my 
boy beat him. * I remember the way he fell. 
It must be twenty years ago. He fell on 
the back of his 'ead. And he wouldn't get 
up. My boy was never a one to boast 
and John Crockett would never admit it 
was true ; but I know. I saw it. It is 

His voice had grown suddenly strong with 
excitement, and now he looked up in ex- 
pectation of the other's smile. 

" But." he would say, " that's twenty 
years ago. John Crockett hadn't begun to 
box. He " 

Davy sat for a moment stiff with wonder 
and a dgpth of gratitude. The little man 
was not laughing. He had cocked one eye 
interestedly ; otherwise his keen eyes were 
still fixed on the old man's face. He be- 
lieved ! 

For a moment the silence held. The old 
man longed to speak on. There was some- 
thing more to tell, and he would have to keep 
it back. His hands twitched restlessly upon 
his lap. His eyes were ablaze with pride and 
satisfaction. And then at last the little 
man made a gesture of puzzled recollection 
and spoke : " But there was something else. 
That isn't all. He " 

The old man nearly bounded out of his 
seat. The truth of it all was on the tip of 
his tongue, and to have to keep silence was 
almost more than he could bear. 

" There is ! There is ! " he cried. " You 
know ? How do you know ? " 

" I don't know," said the other, " I only 
guess. But there must be. A man at the 
Flower Pot Inn has told me that much. But 
I wanted to hear the truth — and all of it — 
from you." 

The old man sank back into his chair. At 

Original from 





last he looked up from under his furrowed " Yes." 

brow, Th* old man paused, and at last he looked 

- You are a stranger here ? » up ^^ERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



" I have promised my son never to let the 
tale get about the village. If I tell you, 
will you keep the secret ? " 

" I promise," said the little man. 

Davy leaned forward. The forefinger of his 
right hand came out stiff and straight until it 
was pointing towards the other's waistcoat. 

" They fought again," he said, in a hushed 
voice. " Down in the hollow — all alone — 
scarcely six years ago. * Crockett came back 
to the village with a reputation. Something 
happened. My William followed him into 
the hollow and brought him to bay. They 
fought for a half an hour. Nobody knew. 
Nobody saw it but me, and I was down there 
smoking my evening pipe." The old man's 
voice began to rise excitedly. 

"It was bare fists. For a half an hour Peter 
Crockett's boy laid into my William. William 
stood up to him. Time after time he hit 
William crash on the point of the jaw and 
William never fell. And then in the very 
end, when they had fought toe to toe for the 
half of an hour, William drew back, and as 
Crockett came in to hit him again William 
let out one great blow with every atom of his 
strength, and it took John bang on the side 
of the ear, so that he fell like a knackered 
*orse, and lay there, and couldn't get up. 
Then William bent over him an' I saw him 
speak his mind, and at last he came away 
and indoors here for a wash, and when 
John Crockett was able he got up an' went 
his own way back ; and in the morning, of 
course, he was gone. I came in later myself, 
and William turned to me suspicious-like. 

" 'Where have you been ? ' says he. 

" I couldn't hold my tongue, and I went 
up to him and laid my hand on his arm and 
I says : ' Oh, William, you've beat John 
Crockett again. You've beat him fair and 
square. Mebbe they will believe me now 
after all ' ; an' I give him a smile. With 
that he turns to me. ' You keep your 
silence, father,' says he. ' Never one word 
of what you have seen this day do you 
breathe to a soul in all the village. This 
thing is my secret. If you don't want me to 
go staring mad, never mention this fight 
from this day on. Until to-day I never 
knew my strength. And if a man in the 
village ever gets to hear so much as a whisper 
of it, from that day on you never see me 
again as long as I live.' " 

Davy stopped. He was breathless. The 
other man was still looking at him fixedly. 

" And now," said he, " John Crockett has 
climbed. To-day he is the champion of 
England. Could your boy beat him again ? " 

" Surftly, surely," answered the old man. 
" He has beaten him twice. Crockett could 
never hurt him. He could never knock him 
so much as off his feet. And when it came 
to his turn to hit, why, only once has he 

known his real strength, and then he knocked 
Crockett out." 

" It's right," said the little man. nodding 
his head. " It's right enough. No other 
man has ever beaten Crockett, but he was 
a man John Crockett couldn't hurt." He 
reached out and laid both hands on Davy's 
arms. " It's true. I know it because John 
Crockett knows it, and Crockett is afraid." 

The old man's eyes were wide and sparkling 
with the fervour of his great ambition. "If 
he would only fight again ! " said he. *' In 
a ring in London, for all the folk to see. If 
John Crockett would face him again then the 
folk here in the village would know. They'd 
have to believe me in the end, and I'd be 
the proudest man alive. But," he added, 
wearily, " William would never do it. All 
the pleasure of life has gone but of William. 
To the end of his days he'll just go on 
carpentering here in the village ; and some 
of them do say that he isn't — all there. / 
might have been the father of the champion 
of England instead of old Peter Crockett — 
but William doesn't care." 

" Why do they say he isn't— all there ? " 
demanded the little man. 

Davy spread his hands feebly. 

" Ever since that day in the hollow, he 
hasn't been quite like other men. He seems 
too much alone. He makes no friends. He 
mixes with no folk in the village. It's just 
as if something had gone crack in his head 
after that fight, and he ain't never been right 
since then." 

" Tell me," said the other. " Whv did he 
fight ? " 

The old man glanced at him thoughtfully. 

" I " he l>egan, and stopped. He 

leaned forward again and began to whisper : 
" You must keep your promise. No one 
must ever know. But you see when Crockett 
came back to the village with a reputation 
he stole away a little slip of a girl from 
William. Nobody here knew that. William 
pretended he didn't care a snap of the 
fingers. For a little while he laughed and 
sang, and nobody thought another thing 
about it. But after a while he began to 
change. And now he only smiles on one 
side of his mouth whenever you look at him. 
It's as if he had made up his mind that he'd 
got to keep on smiling whatever happened, 
and it's got into a habit." 

" You say that nothing would ever make 
him fight again ? " 

Davy shook his head sadly. " William 
doesn't care." 

The little man rose. " Do you ever see 
London papers down in this part of the 
world ? " 

" Just now and again when strangers 
come, but \v q " » * 

The stranger held out his hand. 

* stranger held out his han< 




*' I'm going to speak to your William," 
said he. "I wish you good-bye. I shall 
see you again." He paused. "I'm staying," 
he added, shamefacedly, " at the Flower- 
Pot. It seemed to be the only place. And 
before I go back I shall see you again." 


The little man went away down the village 
street, biting upon his toothpick and looking 
from side to side almost as if in fear of 
omitting to notice some salute, and twice on 
the way he stopped for a minute to speak to 
a villager, and the question he asked of each 
was the same, just as if he were trying to 
gauge the real position of things here in the 
village. " Is it true there's a man amongst 
you who can beat John Crockett ? " And 
each looked back at him with a slow sort of 
smile and said, as he shook his head : " Oh, 
that's old Davy's story. He'd have us think 
so. But you don't get two men like our 
John Crockett springing up in the self-same 
village, you know. Davy's old, you see ; 
and his boy William — well, he ain't like other 

So he passed on, and at last he came to 
the shed of corrugated iron and knocked 
peremptorily upon the door. It was opened 
slowly, and when he saw William in the flesh 
at last the little man stood for a while gazing 
at him intently before he spoke. And then 
he said : — 

" May I come in ? " 

William drew back suspiciously and let 
him pass, turned after him, and came to his 
bench and stood there, leaning upon it with 
that set, peculiar smirk, waiting for the other 
to speak. The little man set his eyes dourly 
upon the other's face, thrust his hands deeper 
into the pockets of his long blue ulster, shifted 
his toothpick to one side of his mouth, and 
began : — . 

" I want to know if anything at all would 
persuade you to come to London and fight 
John Crockett ? " 

William leaned slowly forward and looked 
the little man through and through from 
under his shaggy eyebrows, and at last he 
answered in a queer, dull monotone : — 

" What do you mean ? " 

" Would nothing persuade you to come ? " 
the little man said again. " Money ? " 

William made no answer. He only stared 
and stared at the little man as if he were 
striving his uttermost to think who ever he 
could be. 

" You don't see the London papers here," 
the little man said at last, " so I guess you 
won't have seen this. I want you to look 
at it." 

It was folded so as to show a photo- 
graph, and it was the photograph of a 
girl. William looked at it for a moment 

uncomprehendingly, and then he glanced 
at the letterpress beneath, and read what 
it said : — 

" The charming lady who presides over 
john Crockett's home, john says that 
her tender care is the chief factor in 
his training." * 

' , He read it twice, and then he looked up 
again at the photograph, and stared at it 
until he had looked his fill, and then he put 
the paper down gently upon the bench and 
turned to the little man. 

" What has that got to do with me ? 
Why do you show me this ? " 

He spoke boldly enough, but his manner 
was unconvincing. The little man made a 

"I'm not come to flick you on the raw," 
he answered, shortly. " I know what it 
means to you. But I want you to think 
back into the past." He rested both hands 
upon a table and leaned well fofward over 
it as he spoke, and his voice never broke or 

" That night you fought in the hollow — 
you gave John Crockett a warning. You 
told him to take the girl and marry her and 
make her happy, and you said that if ever 
you got to know that he had broken his holy 
word, if ever he caused her harm in any 
shape or any form, you would follow him 
to the ends of the earth and take jour 

William had stiffened in every sinew, and 
now he stood bolt upright with his hands 
ready at his side as if he would fling him- 
self upon the little man and choke out his 
life. He tried to speak, but only deep, 
half-formed sounds would come. The 
stranger waited, and at last he caught the 
words that William was trying to speak and 
knew that it was the natural question. 

•' I know," he answered, " because John 
Crockett told me ; and John Crockett is 
afraid. Look at that picture again. You 
understand ? It is the only one of its kind 
that was ever published, and I guessed you 
wouldn't have seen it. John Crockett tried 
to stop the issue. You see what it means ? 
That girl is not his wife at all." 

William stood staring before him fiercely. 
Lost memories long locked in his heart were 
coming back to him again. At last he looked 
up and spread his hands appealinglv. 

" Where is she ? " 

" Lucy ? He left her. He sometimes 
sends her a little money. Sometimes he 
doesn't. She is alone in the world. Too 
proud, you know, to go to the law, and still 
too unused to the world to know quite what 
to do." 

William came one step nearer and thumped 
the table with his fist. 

" For Gods sake tell me — how do you 




fcnow all this ? Where have you come from ? 
.Who are you ? What does it all mean? " 

" I know because I was Crockett's trainer. 
All the time he was climbing I watched over 
him. I taught him the game. I fixed his 
fights. While I was with him he never lost. 
And when he got to the top of the tree, 
before he fixed up last night's big match, he 
turned me down. I was his best friend in the 
game. He sent me away." 

"Why? " 

" Because of the little girl. He left his 
wedded wife alone in London with barely a 
friend in the world. God knows what harm 
may come her way. He left her. I gave 
him my mind straight from the shoulder. It 
took me twenty minutes, and then at the 
end he turned on me. ■ You can go too.' 
he said. - You can get.' I wasn't right 
for argument and so I went. And when 
last night' came I couldn't bear to stay in 
London, and I made up my mind to come 
down here and find you." He began to 
speak now with unexpected power. " He's 
won the champion ship of England. His 
head's too swelled to look towards the girl 
he took away from you. I want you to 
•fight him and beat him down to where he 
•was before. That might save the day. If 
you don't hurry it may be too late. Some- 
times I've seen her. I've lent her money at 
times when she's had none. But one of these 
days she'll disappear. She'll have gone in 
the night, and no one on God's earth will 
ever know where. We'll never find her again 
as long as we live. If we could beat John 
Crockett down, if he became a kind of fallen 
idol, I think that the girl . he's with would 
leave him. She's that kind ; and he might 
remember that Lucy wasn't, and then, 
maybe, go back to her." 

William had listened like a man awakening 
from a dream, and now he turned. 

" You say John Crockett told you of me ? " 

"It was one day when his nerve was 
beginning to go before a fight. It was the 
first time I'd ever seen him frightened, and 
I said so. He said : ' I'm not frightened. 
There's only one thing in all my life that 
frightens me, and that's a man who doesn't 
know his own infernal strength — a man you 
can't hurt. I fought a man like that once ' — 
and then he told me. Afterwards when I 
looked back I got to understand that it 
must have l^een on that day that he was 
finally making up his mind to shake off the 
little girl, and he must have been remember- 
ing your warning. That's why I came last 
night. While he was fighting for the belt 
I came down here to tell you that the day 
has come, and that you've got to take your 

William turned again, and the little man 
could see that his queer lop-sided smile had 

vanished. His jaw was squarely set. It 
was as though lift, had reached down again 
the mantle of his manhood and was buckling 
it now about him to be his armour. 

Davy was sitting just as before in his high- 
backed chair beside the cottage door when 
the little man came down the road again 
and stopped at his garden gate. When he 
reached, the. old mail's chair he stopped and 
began to speak jerkily. 

" You must say nothing. You must let 
nobody know. To get your boy into the 
ring against the champion of England is the 
hardest thing a man could have set himself 
to do. I can't quite see the way even yet. 
It shall be done, but I don't quite know how. 
If Crockett knows he will never meet him, 
and unless your boy could prove his grit 
or get his backing by beating a handful of 
other men first, there isn't a man in London 
who would stage the fight." He paused. 
The old man was looking at him earnestly! 

" You mean that William is willing ? You 
mean that he is going to fight ? " 

The little man waved him to silence with 
his hand. 

" You must know absolutely nothing," he 
said. " You must be as silent as the grave. 
Never speak of it till I come again. There 
must be a way to fix this up and I shall find 
it. There isn't an hour to lose. I wish you 
good-bye. You shall see me again." 

Davy interrupted pleadingly. " Tell me," 
said he. " You think he can win ? You 
think he can knock John Crockett out ? " 

" I might not think so," said the little 
man, "if I didn't know John Crockett 
inside out. Crockett's frightened of your 
boy, and that's half the battle." He reached 
down suddenly and patted the old man on 
the shoulder. 

" My name's Buck," said he, " and if there's 
a man in London who can fix up this fight, I 
shall be able to find a way." 

And when he had gone the old man leaned 
prayerfully forward and began to weep 
once again, but now they were tears, not of 
disappointment, but of untold happiness, 
for somebody at the end of his life had 
believed his tale at last. 

A man stood with his hands upon the 
ropes of the ringside, speaking. Wherever 
he looked, men were gazing intently towards 
him, or sat with heads turned sideways the 
better to hear his words. 

They had stared from one to the other of 
the two men who had entered the ring and 
could come to no decision. The idea that 
the unknown challenger of Crockett would 
turn out to be some well-known amateur 
or a pugilist from the provinces had been 
[I mv ERSI T Y F Ml C rl IG A N 



disproved. No one could recognize the 
strange man who sat so stiffly still in his 
corner, looking neither to right nor left, but 
only at the man whom he had come to fight. 
One who might, had be been in the stranger's 
corner, have given a solitary clue— Ruck, 
the man who, they knew, had once been 
Crockett's trainer — was sitting quietly out 
of the limelight, a very ordinary member of 
the audience, chewing his toothpick. Clearly 
he had had nothing to do with the making 
of this match, But in spite of his set eyes. 
Buck's mind was only half attentive. Merc 
snatches of what the man at the ring was 
saying were coming to him, 

" For this man Sir James Brock stands 
sponsor — the whole of the purse to the 
wi n n er — t wen t y round s — J oh n Crock e 1 1 — 
Sir James's Unknown." 

He had moved away out of the ring. The 
man who sat beside the gong was bending 
intently over his watch. Then, suddenly 
breaking the stillness, there sounded a sharp 
voice of peculiar penetration. It said, "Sit 
down there, please f " Here and there men 
turned their heads to look. An old man 
had half risen out of his seat. He wore a 
faded muffler knotted around his neck* His 
eyes were very bright, and his thin cheeks 
were pale with sheer excitement. His hand 
was uplifted as if in token of loyalty to the 

Unknow T n challenger. His lips had framed 
some word of approbation that was never 
spoken- At the sound of that voice of wrath 
behind him he turned his head, and as he 
subsided regretfully into his chair the bell 
rang at the ringside, and he began to crane 
his neck for a better view, his two hands 
gripping at his knees, whilst all the time his 
eyes were set glaringly upon John Crockett, 
who had only become aware that evening 
that the man he had got to meet was William. 
Crockett was moving out of his corner with 
the lithe tread of a softl} r -moving animal, 
and he was waiting with his gloves up for 
the challenger's first move, William stood 
squarely. He had no apparent guard, but 
his gloves were ready, and in the light of 
the arc-lamps the line of his jaw seemed 
strangely square-cut and his countenance 
oddly lacking m any expression save that of 
self control. 

Suddenly they were fighting. Just as 
when six years ago they had fought with 
bare fists down in the hollow, so now Crockett 
was on top of William again. He was coming 
in all the time, making the utmost use of his 
reach, his long legs far apart, and his shoulders 
swinging slowly as he looked for his openings, 
and each time that he hit every muscle in 
his body seemed to tighten with the strength 



them. He- kept -his hands for this and for 
this alone, and scarcely once in the first 
round did he try to hit back. He just kept 
moving steadily before John Crockett, catch- 
ing his blows on the arm or the elbow, and 
sometimes unflinchingly in the face; and 
never giving way. And as time went on 
it suddenly became apparent that all the 
time he was moving he was gradually 
making Crockett draw back towards the 

Progress this way was slow, for Crockett 
kept darting forward again and hitting out, 
and. yet between whiles he was always with- 
drawing as if in anxiety to keep away from 
the threatening violence of those two clenched 
fists. He was at the ropes at last. The 
little man in his inconspicuous seat leaned 
slowly forward and his toothpick dropped 
unheeded from his mouth. 

It seemed that the silence grew suddenly 
more profound, as if the air were stilled with 
quick foreboding. There was uncanny intent 
in William 's watchfulness. Crockett made one 
bound to escape the blow that was surely 
coming, and was free ; and at that moment 
" Time " came, suddenly, and William walked 
placidly to his corner with never a change in 
his whole expression. 

But in his heart he knew now that the 

little man had been right. The idea that 

, William had come at last to take his revenge 

was playing on Crockett's nerves, and Crockett 

was afraid. 

He suffered them patiently whilst they 
bathed his face, and at the call for the 
second round he stood up and lifted his 
hands. Now the champion began to hit 
with greater frequency and greater violence. 
A blow crashed into William's face and seemed 
to rock him upon his feet ; yet when men 
came to look again he was still pressing 
the other towards the ropes almost by 
strength of will alone, unaware of the 
trickle of blood winding its way downward 
from his eye. 

There was one moment when the world 
stood still, and Crockett's right shot up 
from his hip, thudded up under Williams 
chin, and stiffened him to his full height 
with the force of its landing ; but William 
just shook his head once as if to clear his 
brain, settled back into his watchful poise, 
and started to regain lost ground towards 
the ropes. His first blow came unexpectedly. 
Crockett's face was bare and unprotected 
right within reach of his hand. He drew 
hack and swung forward again, whilst his 
g!ove shot out on the end of his great arm 
and hit that hated face as if it would flatten 
the contour of it for all time. Crockett 
swayed backwards, and then recovered with 
an effort, and jumped aside as another blow 
followed on. But now William had changed 

by Google 

to a live man. He took one stride towards 
the other and feinted with his right. 
Crockett ducked, and came up again in time 
to hit him under the chin. It had no effect. 
William went on. He had his man against 
the ropes at last. He drew him with another 
feint. Crockett's guard dropped. The chal- 
lenger moved, for his blow. Then, just ks 
before, the bell rang, and he turned with a 
touch of apathy and was done. But " Time " 
for the third round brought him out of his 
corner with a stride, and this time he met 
John Crockett with ready hands moving at 
his side. A blow crashed into William's 
face and made no difference at all. He just 
went on * into his man, though when they 
could see his face the old man Davy and the 
little man Buck could see that he was 
bleeding badly. He hit out suddenly, but 
missed. Crockett came up again and landed 
just as before under the chin. William tried 
to hit back, but his man was out of reach. 
Another blow came at him instead, and he 
met it clumsily with his face. Blood was 
blinding him. He shook his head arid 
looked for Crockett. Crockett loomed up 
suddenly before him with a new smile on his 
hated face ; then William drew back. If 
Crockett beat him to-day the warning that 
he had given would become a joke. Unless 
he could send his man rocking to the floor 
again and again until his insufferable conceit 
was finally shattered, it would have been 
better for Lucy that he had never come out 
of his loneliness at all. 

As Crockett came at him again he stepped 
in and drove at him, first with one hand, 
then with the other. This time he landed 
thudding blows, and Crockett went back 
again towards the ropes. He followed quickly. 
Crockett tried to jump out and escape, but 
as he jumped William hit him again and 
sent him back. For the third time William 
got ready. Crockett saw it coming and 
shot out quick blows one after the other in 
despair. They landed on William's face, 
and he stood there grimly letting them come, 
waiting until they should have ceased and 
he could see Crockett clearly once again. 
He would not give way. He would not go 
down. Crockett was swinging forward be- 
tween the rallies and striving to force his 
way out. It was useless. At last he stopped 
for one brief moment, and William blinked 
his eyes and dourly shook his head. Then 
he saw Crockett, and as he began to hit 
out again William found his strength at 
last. Sudden great hatred welled up within 
him ; through these three rounds he had 
waited bravely for that strength of the devil 
to fire his being as it had fired it that other 
night down in the hollow. He knew now 
that it had come. Crockett should hit him 
no more. He saw Crockett's glove shooting 

Original from 





towards him, and before it ever landed he 
countered with a great punch from the 
shoulder. Then he took one fierce look, saw 

Crockett against the ropes, dazed and for a 
moment unguarded. In that second he 
summoned aii his might and threw himstlf 




into the greatness of one blow. It was a. 
great drive and a straight one, with the 
strengh of four men in its weight. It took 
Crockett on the side of the chin. Crockett 
threw up his hands and began to fall side- 
ways. With a superhuman effort he half 
recovered and stood straight for a moment, 
lifting his hand subconsciously to hit. 
William clenched his teeth and hit him once 
more, and finally. 

Crockett stood for one second stiffly 
upright, with glazing eyes. The colour had 
gone from his cheeks and left them blanched. 
His heels were close together, and as he fell 
they never parted. His knees were stiff, 
and they stayed stiff. He fell like a log, 
liitting the boards, so it seemed, with the 
whole of his body at once, like a falling 
pillar, and lay there stark upon the floor 
with his hands doubled under him, his eyes 
wide open, staring. 

Only once had William seen a man look 
quite like that before in all his life. That 
man had been dead. He moved forward like 
a somnambulist and leaned over Crockett. 

Somebodv — the referee — cried to him : 
" Stand back ! " 

He would not stand back. Something 
impelled him on. He began to wrestle with 
his gloves, trying to free one hand. He 
did not hear the shouting and the cheers. The 
small shrill voice of an old man who had 
jumped upon his chair and was waving to 
him in a frenzy never reached his ears. 

The timekeeper had counted the seconds. 
He understood that Crockett was out. At 
last one of his hands was free. He felt 
somebody tugging him towards his corner, 
and struggled out of his grasp. Then he 
knelt over John Crockett, passed a hand 
over him. At last he looked up. 

" This man " he began. He wanted 

to say that Crockett was dead. The words 
would not come. He could only point. He 
saw them trying to lift John Crockett up. 
At last they were making way for a man 
who had climbed into the ring from below — 
a doctor. He was looking into Crockett's 
face, touching his eyes, feeling his wrists ; 
he had turned to those near him. 

William looked round for someone he 
knew. There was no one. He was alone. 

He had met Crockett without a word of 
greeting of any kind. He wondered if 
Crockett had really been afraid. Since that 
day in the hollow no single word had ever 
passed between them ; but each in his heart 
had known and had remembered. Now he 
had killed Crockett with his fist. 

He turned to them. He wanted to say : 
" God knows — he had his warning," but no 
%vords would come. The blood was still 
trickling down his face. His hands were 
shaking a little. 

by Google 

A man came across to him. 

" You've killed him," he said. ' I'm 
afraid we shall have to keep you here. The 
police will want you." 

Davy sat on the carved oak bench before 
the glowing fire of the Gardeners' Arms. 
The village men who had laughed at him for 
twenty years were clustered about him in 
a group, their mouths agape. And they 
listened to the old man's story. 

He came to the end of the tale of that 
great fight almost unwillingly, but neverthe- 
less working nobly to a finish and winding 
up on a high-pitched note of dramatic 

" You laughed at my boy : and he fought," 
he added, after a moment. " He only fought 
that once, and he will never fight again as 
long as he lives. But the only time he did 
fight in a London ring he met the champion 
of England, and killed him." 

He sat back. None of them had seen the 

Peter Crockett had not come back from 
London. Rumour said that he was never 
coming back ; that he wanted to keep 
away from the village that was filled with 
memories of his son, and that he would stay 
in London. Only Davy could tell the true 
tale of that amazing night. It was the best 
tale that anyone in all the village had ever 
had to tell ; and it was a true one. So long 
as he lived, their sons and their grandchildren 
would never tire of hearing it. To the end 
of his days now he would always have a tale 
to tell whenever they sat like this around the 

He suddenly turned. A footstep had 
sounded at the door. The landlord put his 
head into the room. 

" A gentleman to see you. Davy," he 
said. " He'd like to speak to you here." 
Davy rose and went in dignity across the 
room. In the dark of the hali he stopped 
and looked. A little man was standing 
there waiting, a little man who chewed a 

The little man looked up. " William is 
free," said he. 

Davy reached out a hand and laid it upon 
the little fellow's arm. 

" Free ? Has he come ? " 

" He will come," answered Buck, " but 
to-day he has gone to find Lucy. And after- 
wards he will be bringing her down. I just 
came to tell you and to stay for a day or two, 
perhaps, amongst you here." 

For a little while the old man made no 
answer. His mind seemed to be travelling 
back along the years. 

At last he slowly nodded his head. " I 
could almost believe," said he, " that William 
had never let her go." 

Original from 


Sir William Orpen, R.A., K.B.E. 

Tke Great Painter of the Historic Picture 

" The Signing of the Peace Treaty? 


NE morning 1 was discussing 

the perplexing character of 
Preside lit Wilson with an 
important member of the 
American peace delegation in 

" He puzzles me as much 

as ever he did/' said my friend. " I would 

give a great deal to solve the Wilson enigma. 

He is the mystery man of the modern world/' 
Everyone whose business it was to attend 

the long-drawn-out Peace Congress was 

intrigued in the same way. Indeed, the 

Peace Congress song was, " Who is Wilson, 

what is he ? " 
A few hours 

after the conver- 
sation to which 

I have referred, 

the mystery 

w a s, however, 

solved, for me 

at least. The 

business of the 

British Govern* 

nient during the 

Paris Congress 

was carried on 

ill the Hotel As- 
toria, a building 

most inconven- 
iently situated 

near the Arc de 

Triomphe. One 

of the ground- 

iloor rooms was 


turned into a 

studio and was 

the workroom 

of Major Sir 

William Orpen, 

R,A„ K.B.E., 

one of the two 

official artists 

attached to the 

Congress. Major 

Augustus John 

was the other. 

'not only the features of the man, BCTlfiy mjiuKkffteR, 

Few many weeks Sir William was busy, 
painting rapid port rait -studies of the Con- 
gress personalities for use in the great 
picture which is to be the historic record 
of the signing of the r Second Treaty of 

Oil the afternoon of the day on which my 
American had deplored the fact that no man 
knew Wilson, the President of the United 
States gave Or pen a one hour's sitting, the 
first of three. He arrived precisely at two, 
surrounded as always by a bodyguard of 
detectives, ami left precisely at three* 

A few minutes afterwards Orpen showed 

me his study. 
It was a mar- 
vellous sixty 
minutes' achieve- 
ment. The pain- 
ter had worked 
with brain and 
soul and muscle, 
and he was as 
weary as a sprint 
runner who has 
just won a race. 
But the real 
miracle was not 
the completeness 
of a picture 
painted so rap- 
idly, but the 
fact that not 
only the features 
of the man but 
his character, 
with its strength 
and its limita- 
tions, stood out 
on the canvas, 
clear for him 
who looked to 
read. Or pen's 
keen eyes had 
pierced the mask, 
His picture told 
me what I had 
spent weeks of 

STOOD OUT CLEAR FOR HIM WH^fl^'lfpp i |T[Of ^^ HIGAf'F* 111 




endeavouring to 
discover, Here 
was not only the 
explanation of 
President Wilson 
but the explana- 
tion of the Peace 

Art (whatever 
else it may be) is 
the annotation of 
life. The artist 
writes the foot- 
notes that help 
duller men to un- 
derstand. The 
portrait - painter, 
if he be an artist 
(and many a suc- 
cessful portrait- 
pa inter is nothing 
of the sort) , needs 
far more than 
technical skill. 
Mr, George Ber- 
nard Shaw once 
boasted that, 
almost alone 
among his con- 
temporaries, he 
possesses a pair 
of eyes fixed 
straight in his 
head. That is a 
good deal, bnt 
not enough. Sir William Orpen has indeed 
a power that Sam WeUer regretted was not 
his. If he cannot see through an oak door, 
he can see through a human forehead. 
The rest of us see eyes and noses and 
mouths, and we try, generally unsuccessfully, 
to deduce character from them. Orpen 
looks and sees (sometimes, very often, but 
not always) the complete man as he really 
is and as he generally wishes he wasn't. We 
see the man as the camera sees him — 
which is why we all like photographs. The 
artist sees the man as God sees him, and it 
is not infrequently hard for us to recognize 
the likeness. 

And then one arrives at this odd fact, 
The artist may paint better than he knows. 
He may tell us far more than he tells himself. 
He paints, for instance, a picture of Brown, 
We look at the picture and we see at once 
that Brown is a liar, "and we are shocked at 
the discovery. We ask the artist if he is 
really sure that Brown is a liar, and he will 
probably say, -i I don't know in the least 
whether he is a liar or not, but that is 
Brown as I see him I " 

Since I saw the Wilson study I have 
been looking very curiously at Orpen 's 
eyes. They are verv steady and very sharp, 




They are Tather 
eyes, and when 
he looks at you 
it is impossible 
not to wonder 
what he is seeing 
of your soul. 
Somehow most of 
us would hate to 
have our souls 
pulled out into 
the daylight. Not 
that Major Sir 
William Orpen, 
i R.A., K.B.E., is 
at all an uncom- 
fortable person. 
He is a cheery 
little Irishman, 
short, stiff- 
figured, utterly 
i without a vestige 
of side, com- 
pletely unspoiled 
by success. It is 
a joke to think of 
him as Major Sir 
William Orpen, 
J etc., etc. No 
one in Paris who 
knew him ever 
dreamt of calling 
him anything but 
Bill, generally, bv 
the way, with an affectionate colloquial adjec- 
tive in front of it. The man himself actually 
is Bill Orpen. His name summarizes his 
character. There is no such person at all 
as Major Sir William Orpen, R.A., K.B.E,, 
though it may please society chroniclers to 
believe that there is. From the financial 
point of view the fashionable portrait-painter 
is among the most enviable of mortals. 
Duchesses stand in queues on his doorstep. 
Millionaires dangle fat cheques ^before his 
eyes. I do not suggest that Orpen scorns 
the cheques (in this respect we are all men 
of like passions), but I do know that he 
neither cares nor even remembers if a 
woman is duchess or dairy- maid, or whether 
a man is peer or potman, when he begins 
to paint. They are all studies, and they 
either interest him or bore him. The 
consequence is that he paints dull (and very 
probably inexact} pictures of dull people, 
and exciting and illuminative pictures of 
people who are unusual, intriguing, and 
individual. Perhaps the triumph of his 
Peace Congress studies is the picture of the 
Marquess Saionji, the Japanese principal 
delegate. The beautiful, clear-cut, Buddha- 
esque immobility of the face is more than 
the revelaHon oi .the character of a man. 



It is the summary of the qualities, if not of 
a nation, of the class that has for centuries 
governed that nation. The picture tells 
the story of the Samurai. Another of the 
outstanding successes is the picture of 
Genera! Botha, If I were to say which 
are the failures, I should be forced to speak 
evil of dignitaries. 

Orpen joined the Army Service Corps 
early in the war as a second-hen tenant* 
After a while it occurred to somebody in 
authority that a great painter might be 
more usefully employed than in wasting his 
time as a sort of livery-stable clerk, and 
Qrpen was sent to France to paint the war 
pictures that have since been exhibited in 
London. About one of these pictures, 
+ The Spy/' a thrilling fictional romance 
has been woven, but the truth is a typical 
Orpen story. While he was at the Front, 
the artist was specifically forbidden to 
paint any pictures that were unauthorized 
by his military chiefs. One day a pompous 
and very unintelligent colonel went through 
the canvases in Orpen's makeshift studio 
to see if this order was being strictlv obeyed, 
and among them he found the study of a 
_Jbeautifnl woman with bare head and naked 
shoulders. The colonel sent for Orpen and 
asked for an explanation, which Orpen (I 
have mentioned 

that he is 3nsh) 
at once supplied, 
A story was 
wanted an d 
Open is not the 
man to fail. So 
he concocted a 
wondrous yarn 
of a beautiful 
Hungarian spy 
captured by the 
French, \vho T 
when she was 
taken out to be 
shot, suddenly 
threw off her 
cloak and stood, 
naked, before 
the firing squad, 
in order to move 
their susceptible 
hearts. The 
colonel was im- 
pressed but in- 
quisitive. H e 
demanded more 
details, and 
Orpen found 
himself landed 
in a coil. His 
model, a per- 
fectly innocent 

French girl, was arrested. He himself nar- 
rowly escaped court-martial, but the spy 
story has become a war classic, which every 
American magazine has reprinted, and which 
will certainly appear in every popular w r ar 
history. Thus has history ever been con* 
cocted by the imaginative. 

During his w T ar service he met, of course, 
all thij great Army leaders, but the two 
soldiers he remembers best and of whom 
he loves most to talk are two boys in the 
Flying Corps, one about twenty and the 
other about twenty-two, with whom he 
became great friends, and who live m his 
mind as Tom and Fred. It' is safe to add 
thai when they were together the Royal 
Academician w?s the youngest and most 
irresponsible of the three. Anyhow, they 
soon dropped the Sir William, and it was 
Bill, with the affectionate adjective, .for 
them. The two boys loved each other and 
were hardly ever apart. One night one of 
them said to the other, l- Tom, I wi^h vou'd 
recite/ 1 "Nc/ - said his friend; '*! hata 
reciting because you always cry," ' But 
I like crying/' ur^-d Fred. So Tom recited 
a most lugubrious poem and Fred cried 
happily all through the performance. The 
end of the story brings the tears into the 
artist's eyes. Tom and Fred were killed 

together on the 

same day! Those 
two boys will 
always be 
Or pen's chief 
memory of the 

He is a strenu- 
ous worker, 
though, like 
many other 
strenuous work- 
ers, he in a y 
always appear 
to have lots of 
time for loafing. 
His P^acc Con- 
gress picture will 
contain thirty- 
six portraits, 
each of them 
meaning three or 
four sittings, to 
say nothing of 
the studies of the 
Salle des Glaces, 
where the cere- 
mony of thr- sign- 
ing of the Treaty 
took place. 

His Paris por- 
traits are — Pre- 
sident Wilson, 
of GSKEML^fff^ jy Qf m C HGA ftlr.Lloyd George, 


'another of qrpen's outstanding sdSfKpitlESl from 



M« CJemenceau, 
Marshal Foch, Mar- , 
shal Joffre, Field- 
Marshal Haig, 
Admiral Beatty, 
Admiral Wemy^, 
General Botha, 
Lord Hardinge, 
Lord Derby, the 
Marquess Saionii, 
M. Venizelos, Lord 
Reading, Sir 
Robert Borden, 
Mr, Barnes, Colonel 
I ,a wren ce, t he Em i r 
Feisul, Sir Henry 
Wilson, the Maha- 
rajah of Bikanir, 
General Smuts, 
General De Wiart, 
Lord Robert Cecil, 
Colonel House, Sir 
John Ward, Lofd 
Sumner, M, Hv- 
luans, Mr. Lansing. 
Senor Da Costa, 
General Sykcs, 
Mr, Balfour, Mr. 
Hughes, General 
Diaz, General Per- 
shing, Lord Milner, 
and Sir Maurice 
Hankey. In ad- 
dition Orpen painted a masterly study of a 
picturesque attendant at the Polish Legation 
who. he declares, he discovered was really a 
Sinn Feiner from County Cork. The upper lip 
certainly supports the theory. The Ameri- 
cans wanted to buy the portrait of President 
Wilson for immediate shipment to Washing- 
ton, and many of Or pen's other Congress 
sitters wanted to purchase their pictures. 
7 kit the collection is an historic set that can 
hardly he broken. The artist has, however, 
had an invitation to go to America again 
to paint the President, and he has also been 
invited to become the official artist of the 
Portu gu ese Repu bl ic ♦ 

Or pen frequently began work long before 
the majority of delegates and correspondents 
were out of bed, and he frequently worked 
seven days a week, But the note of the 
man is to do everything that he has to do 
with all his heart and soul. His laugh is 
large and wholesome, He frivols with a 
will, No man is a more stimulating after- 
dinner companion. And this is all in accord 
with the fact that when his palette is in his 
hand he works with fierce concentration, 
his set face showing the determination that 
his finders shall exactly obey his eyes and 
that his canvas shall tell all that Ills eyes 
see. Orpen is either all in his work or not 
in it at all. He can be (and generally is) 



supremely good. 
He can be bad. 
But mediocrity is 
foreign to his soul. 
William Orpen 
was born in Dub- 
lin just over forty 
years ago. He tells 
you with a chuckle 
that in true Irish 
fashion he first 
studied in a Dublin 
art school, run bv 
the Board of 
Agriculture. This 
school, by the 
way, has a public 
subsidy of eleven 
thousand pounds 
a year, while the 
R o y a 1 H iber n ia n 
Academy school 
has a subsidy of 
only three hundred 
a year. One feels 
that a Sinn Feiner 
would found some 
effective anti- 
Dublin Castle in- 
dictment on these 
odd facts, When 
Orpen left Dublin 
he studied at the 
Slade School in London, and he and Augustus 
John remain the Slade 's two most famous 
pupils. Success came to him very earlv. 
His work found speedy recognition. He 
was an A.R.A, before he was thirty. He 
was elected an Academician before he was 
forty. Like many clever Irishmen, he ha? 
found England a kindly stepmother. But 
William Orpen is wholly and entirely Irish. 
He is no politician, but Douglas Hyde, the 
founder of the Gaelic League, from which 
the Sinn Fein movement really sprang, is 
his cousin, and George Moore was one of 
his nearest friends. Before the war he 
spent part of every year in Ireland, and, 
despite success and uncountable friends, he 
always will be an exile in England, Super- 
ficially Orpen has as Jittte in common 
with what Bernard Shaw called the 
" leprechaun school " of Irish writers as 
Mr. Shaw himself. But under the brusque 
humour of his manner and the realism 
of his art there is hidden away some- 
thing of the yearning, unsatisfiable sadness 
that characterizes one type of Irishman, and 
which is the note of so much recent Irish 

I discovered this fact about Orpen, dis- 
covered it %vith something of a shock, when 
I one day found two dainty little dreamers' 
poems lying gh his studio desk* 



Jinother adventure of Omar an d his companions, 
by the great new Jlmerican humorist. 



HE three of us 
— Omar, Har- 
mony, and I — 
were cast adrift 
in the town of 
Salinas, and of 
course we were 
in our usual condition of vehement 
financial distress, and, to make things 
m;jre interesting, all three of us had 
taken a solemn vow to lead a life of 
serene honesty. Yes, sir; we had just 
decided to abjure a life of petty 
crime and to travel the thin path of rectitude. 
Reformed we were, and solidly anchored to 
the rock of righteousness. True, this did 
not actually begin within us, or at the 
behest of our consciences. Up in San 
Rafael, and about ten days before we struck 
Salinas, a large and inflamed body of in- 
formal citizens had talked it over with us, 
and had convinced us that there is nothing 
in a life of shame. It is further true that 
they did this talking while on the run, about 
seventy yards behind us, and late at night . 
The details are unimportant, but we were 
now three changed men, and, if anything, 
Harmony was changed the most. He lodged 
to be an honest citizen. Omar also longed 

G L 


and it 

to be honest, but he worried 
a good deal about board and 

Thus it was that we entered 
Salinas, as pure as the driven 
snow, and equally homeless. 
Joe Tait permitted us to loiter 
his pool tables for a few days, 
was in this palace of amuse- 
ment that I found Harmony and Omar 
curled up over a map of the Pacific 
Ocean, which they had spread out on 
the billiard table, 
'" Here's a funny thing, George," Harmony 
said, as I entered. M We're only forty miles 
from El C amino, and I know the mayor of 
that town. He used to be a cigarette 
salesman. Omar knows him too," 
" Well/' I asked, " what of it ? " 
" He's a good chap/' Omar volunteered. 
* He's reformed now, like us. His name is 
Mortimer Tukes/' 

They warmly pointed out El Camino to me, 
which at the moment was concealed in one 
of the corner pockets, and continued to talk of 
Mayor Tukes. 1 asked a few polite questions, 
and remarked that there seemed no reason to 
have a violent spasm because they both knew 
the mayor oi a fourth-class coast town, 




" No," said Harmony, '' there's no occasion 
for excitement, and yet the finger of oppor- 
tunity beckons us toward El Camino. This 
town is one of the oldest in California and 
has been a summer resort for years, but it 
needs vigorous advertising. Let us go over 
there and hurl some ginger into the town, 
and, knowing the mayor as I do, we ought to 
get away to a friendly start :"- 

The next morning we commandeered the 
back end of a fruit truck and rode over the 
mountains to El Camino, arriving there about 
noon. We located the office of his honour 
the mayor, walked in, and found that Mayor 
Tukes was a thin, sarcastic, hollow-faced 
man, surrounded by cigarette smoke and a 
discouraging manner. He seemed to be 
s tisfied with El Camino as it lay. Harmony 
introduced us and called his honour's attention 
to the dim and distant days when he sold 
cigarettes. I could see that the city's 
executive, if he was overcome with a wild 
joy, was concealing it most skilfully. 

" Well," said Mr. Tukes, " I do remember 
you vaguely. I can't recall the little man at 

" Never mind that," Harmony continued, 
warming up to his work. " You see before 
you three live wires, and you need us in El 
Camino. There are millions of prospective 
customers who don't come here because they 
don't know about the town, and what you 
want is an outfit of hustlers to give this place 
the right publicity, whereupon you will do 
twice the business you did last year." 

" You think you have the qualifications for 
such a job," said Mr. Tukes, in what I took 
to be a sardonic manner. "As I recall it, 
you were some kind of a crook." 

" True," said Harmony, without rancour, 
" but I have reformed. George and Omar 
have reformed too. We are all honest now, 
and we mean to go on leading a life of spotless 

" El Camino," said Mayor Tukes, inhaling 
his cigarette, " requires no advertising. Its 
fame is extensive. People come here because 
they know the joys of our famous beaches, 
and to escape the hot, arid winds of the inland 
country. If we did need a publicity depart- 
ment, should I do right to employ three birds 
of passage, who, for all I know, may just have 
escaped from jail ? " 

" No," said Omar at this point. " We 
haven't been in jail at all. They missed us. 
And, anyhow, why be so finicky ? They 
used to pinch you once a week back in 
St. Paul, when you ran that crooked business. 
When you weren't coming out of jail, you 
were going in, so why be particular ? " 

Mr. Tukes glared at Omar, and I could tell 
that the conversation was not getting us 
perceptibly nearer three good advertising 

" You are mistaken," he said to Oman 
who grinned cheerfully at him. " I hold a 
position of some dignity in this city, and it 
would ill befit me to consort with knights of 
the road. This town doesn't need adver- 
tising, anyhow. As you pass out of the 
office, close the door." 

There ended our interview with the mayor 
of El Camino, and we filed slowly into the 
sunlit streets of the town. Late in the 
afternoon, with things looking very bleak 
indeed for three honest men, we put into a 
house of refreshment, and there we made the 
acquaintance of a large, hoarse, red-haired 
man wearing a white waistcoat, a purple 
hat, and a set of whiskers. He was in a 
genial mood, despite his ferocious appearance, 
and we learned that he was in El Camino on 
a visit. He was sitting in the middle of the 
taproom, entirely alone and entirely sur- 
rounded by glasses of mixed ale, into which 
he was thrusting a red-hot poker and enjoying 
the resultant hissing. We watched him at 
this curious pastime until he noticed us, 
whereupon he invited us cordially to sit in 
and blow the foam off a beaker. 

Thus began our acquaintance with 
Mr. Augustus Peabody Ankerman, hotel 
proprietor, one of the very few persons 1 
have known who could carry a couple of 
barrels of ale without showing the faintest 

" So you're looking for work, are you ? " 
he asked, in what he regarded as a con- 
versational tone, but which you could hear 
above the booming of a flood tide. ,f It 
may turn out lucky that you came in here 
and met me." 

" Why so ? " I asked. 

" Well," he said, tracing curlicues with the 
iron poker on the table top, " I am the man 
who owns all the hotels in Pebble Beach, 
including the famous Golden Knoll." 

" Is that so ? " Omar put in, politely, this 
being his first remark, because the large man 
frightened him. " Where is Pebble Beach ? " 

" Where is Pebble Beach ! " roared Mr. 
Ankerman. " Good Lord ! Do you mean 
to tell me you never heard of Pebble Beach ? 
Sufferin' cats ! " 

" He never heard of anything," Harmony 
said soothingly at this point to keep us from 
getting in worse. " Don't pay any attention 
to him. He was born in an orphanage." 

The hotel man drank three indignant glasses 
without pausing and resumed discourse. 

" I own every hotel in Pebble Beach, which 
is about fourteen miles down the coast from 
where we are now. For the benefit of your 
friend with the darkened intellect, I'll say 
that Pebble Beach is one of the finest summer 
resorts on the Pacific coast. We have two 
hundred bungalows ; scattered along a shelv- 
ing beag^-^-^e^^nin? down to the 




sea. We have a rocky coast -line in places* 
and at other points the finest bathing 
facilities in th^ world. This infernal EI 
Camino gets most of the summer 
trade that we ought to have, and 
that's why I say maybe it's lucky 
you walked in here on me. Maybe 
we can do a little business." 

44 No doubt we can/' Harmony 
said, politely. 

" What kind of 
advertising ex- 
perts are you ? 
\Y h a t do you 
know about pub- 
licity ? What can 
you do p assuming 
I gave you a 
job ? " 

About all Har- 
mony ever needs 
to start him off is 
somebody to ask 
him a few leading 
questions, and for 
the next ten 
minutes M r , 
Ankerman leaned 
back and listened, 
while our M r. 
Childs told him 
how good we 
were at thinking 
up unusual and 
unique publicity 

* f Here's the way it is/' Ankerman said, 
when Harmony ceased his eulogy. " Pebble 
Beach has always needed the right kind oE 
publicity, and so far it hasn't got it, with the 
result that El Camino has run off with the 
summer trade. I'm willing to give you three 
birds a chance to show what you can do, 
I'll provide you with rooms at the Golden 
Knoll Hotel, where you will get your meals 
and lodging. Go ahead and show me what 
you can do. If you're the goods, I'll put 
you on the regular pay-roll. Is that fair, or 
not ? " 

We admitted that this seemed eminently 
fair, and then Mr, Ankerman invited us to 
have dinner with him in EL Camino and later 
travel to Pebble Beach in his car. 

" Didn't I tell you that honesty paid ? ,J 
Harmony demanded of me on the quiet. 
" We're fixed for the summer." 1 

" Can we make good ? " I asked, 

HI Can a duck swim ? " he replied, and we 
went in to eat with Mr. Ankerman. 

We started to put Pebble Beach on the 
map, and for the next six weeks 1 worked 
harder than I had ever worked before. 
Harmony furnished ideas, and I furnished 
ideas, and Omar furnished what he took to be 





ideas, but which in reality were the insane 
rambiiiigs of a mind that is soon going to 
disintegrate. We were supplied with one 
of those small frightened -looking typewriting 
machines weighing six pound s, and on it I 
wrote a lot of very fine lies about Pebble 
Beach. We procured a list of all the news- 
papers west of the Mississippi River and sent 
them daily messages concerning the frivolities 
ot Pebble Beach and the expected activities 
during the coming summer. We also hooked 
on with a man who was employed by a 
Press Association and who agreed to send stuff 
to his papers. 

I wrote interviews with famous people, 
including Chinese dignitaries, Japanese, and 
Hindus, together with an occasional 
prominent American, I saw to it that these 
personages stopped at the Golden Knoll, and 
they all said interesting things. Harmony 
came through with a story about a young 
woman whose father was a chemist and who 
used his own bath-tub for chemical experi- 
ments, The daughter took a bath in the 
tub and began to turn into marble* That 
story was printed in every paper in the 
United States^ ■■ i f mm 

Another one he thought 

)T one he thought up was about the 




old maid who lived in Pebble Beach and hired 
a messenger boy to catch flies for her tame 
lizard. This, too, secured wide circulation. 

During all this hard work Omar Gill 
annoyed Harmony and me with his incessant 
importunities. He felt that he was being 
kept out of it, and he longed to kick in and 
take an active hand in the press-agenting, 
but we forbade him. 

" You two are spoiling this," he said. 
" You're all right when it comes to crooked 
stuff, but now we're honest. I know more 
about how to work honest games than you 
do, because I'm naturally honest, and you're 
naturally crooked. Why don't you use 
some of my suggestions ? " 

" Because they're no good," Harmoriy said, 
frankly. " You're a natural-born fool and 
you'll never be anything else. George and I 
are running this business. You're getting 
your board and room, so what more do you 
want ? " 

That was quite true about his board and 
lodging. He was getting fat like one of those 
French horses, but he kept nagging at us 
until Harmony's patience began to wear 
down so you could see the nap. 

To show you how useless Omar's sugges- 
tions were, he came bounding into our work- 
room with a story to the effect that a 
celebrated doctor now living in Pebble 
Beach had discovered that the salt water of 
Pebble Bay contained the precise ingredients 
needed to cure epilepsy. If we published 
that, wouldn't Pebble Beach have a nice 
summer, full of epileptics ? 

So we relieved him of all mental effort, 
and he went around Pebble Beach growling 
ferociously because we kept him from ruining 
our successful effort to remain honest and 
conduct a publicity enterprise. Toward the 
middle of June, Boss Ankerman, the demon 
hotel owner, admitted that Harmony and I 
had the goods. 

" You boys are there, I'll say," he chuckled. 
y This publicity stuff is what we needed here. 
I'm getting inquiries about rooms from people 
as far east as Sioux City, and the advance 
bookings are growing day by day. I dunno 
but what I'd better put you lads on a regular 

" How much ? " Harmony demanded. 
" Oh — fifty dollars a week for you, and the 
same for George. How would that hit you, 
starting about the first of July, when the 
regular paying season opens ? " 

" How about me ? " Omar asked, suddenly. 
11 Looks like you're forgetting me, Mr. 

" You ! " said Ankerman, in genuine 
astonishment. " What have you got to do 
with it ? As I understand it, you're simply 
a free boarder, living on the efforts of 
Harmony and George." 

" You hired the three of us, didn't you ? '' 
Omar demanded, hotly. " I'm one of us, 
ain't I ? Do I get my fifty a >veek or not ? " 

"I'll have to leave that to Harmony," the 
boss answered, gently. " He tells me that 
all the advertising projects you have so far 
suggested are no good. How about it, 
Harmony ? " 

" Well," said Harmony, slowly, " I can't 
conceal the truth. So far, George and I have 
done the work, and Omar has done the eating. 
Of course, he may come through with a 
bright idea one of these days, and likewise 
the hotel cat may begin laying duck eggs. 
Nobody can foresee the future." 

" I may ! " Omar interrupted, heatedly. 
" That's rich, that is. If you two maniacs 
would listen to me and use some of my 
schemes, we could get twice as much free 
advertising for Pebble Beach." 

" The little chap means well," Harmony 
continued, apologetically, " and he may help 
us before the first of the month. In that case, 
put him on the pay-roll." 

" All right, ".agreed Ankerman. " Suppose 
we leave it that way. I want to do the right 
thing by you boys, because so far your work 
has been very good indeed." 

When he went out of the room, I thought 
Omar was going to have a fit with shrieking 
on the office rug, and the names he called us 
would have brought the blush of shame to the 
cheek of a cannibal. We bore with him in 
patience, because after all he is our Omar 
and belongs to us, the same as our dyspepsia. 

" I'll show you up," he bellowed until the 
lady in No. 4 knocked on the wall. " Before 
this is ended, I'll show Ankerman how bright 
you and George are. You see if I don't ! " 

" You better walk out of here," said 
Harmony, after a bit. " George and I have 
to make up a piece for a San Francisco 
magazine and you annoy us horribly. Go 

He removed himself from the scene, very 
irritable and disgusted, and from then on he 
greeted us with words of insult. This was 
in June. As the month wore on he referred 
with increasing frequency to the approaching 

" I'm going to get on that thing," he said, 
harshly. " If you and Harmony get paid, 
I'm going to get paid. You steal most of my 
ideas, anyhow, and use them. You pretend 
they're no good, but I see them in print." 

This was not the truth ; we told him so 

" If it wasn't for me we never should have 
got these jobs," he insisted. " I deserve a 
salary, and I'm going to have it." 

" You wanted to be honest, didn't you ? " 
Harmony demanded. " Well, we're honest. 
You get a third of what George and I earn, 
don't you ? It wouldn't be honest to make 




Ankerman pay you fifty a week — not unless 
you do something to earn it. I know what 
honesty is and so do you," 

Don't think that the precious officials of 
El Camino, led by Mayor Mortimer Tukes, 
were not painfully aware of what was taking 
place in Pebble Beach. The larger town had 
always regarded Pebble Beach as a squint- 
eyed stepchild which could have the over- 
flow of summer-tourist trade — if there was 
any. It now peemed plain that Mr + Mayor 
Tnkes had overlooked a bet. People began 
coming into El Camino on trains and stopping 
just long enough to ask the town policeman 
how you got to Pebble Beach, Visitors who 
had flocked to Mr. Tukes's town in previous 
years informed him that they intended to 
give Pebble Beach a whirl this year, seeing 
it was going to be so lively ; and it all looked 
very soft and lovely as the time approached 
when we would be paid weekly in cash. 

We encountered Mayor Tukes one afternoon 
on the highway. We were riding luxuriously 
in the Golden Knoll motor-car, and Mr. Tukes 
was tooling one of those small, frantic, self- 
propelled vehicles. 

'Well, Mt. Tukes/" Harmony said, with a 
large, friendly smile. " Looks as if you made 
a mistake when you didn't hire us that time. 
Didn't I tell you we were live wires ? Have 
you observed Pebble Beach since we took 
charge ? " 

" You're a couple of rogues/' remarked 
the mayor, overlooking Omar, who was under 
the rug, 

M No," said Harmony, " we're the people 
that are going to make a pot of money for 
the Ankerman estate. If anybody stops in 
EI Camino this 
* season, it will be 
to fix a tyre. You 
and the other 
officials are going 
to have that town 
all to yourselves." 

The mayor said 
a couple of things 
here that referred 
more or less 
vaguely to the 
hereafter and our 
place in it t after 
which he rode 
away in a cloud 
of blue smoke, 
profanity, and en- 
raged sounds. 

That's how we 
stood with the 
sainted mayor of 
El Camino- He 
disliked us very 

heartily, and naturally I was surprised to hear 
about him and Omar as I did later on that 
same week. Harmony and Omar came down 
the hall together, and I could hear them in 
controversy - , 

" He ain't such a bad chap at all/* Omar 
was insisting. ' He has a lot of good points/ 

M So has a mosquito/' retorted Harmony. 
" What do you think, George ? Our little 
private thorn -in- the- side has been fraternizing 
with old Mayor Tukes, the El Camino poison 
lizard . Thinks Mr, Tukes is a nice man— 
and after him practically throwing us out of 
his office/' 

" Didn't I ■ know him back in Minne- 
apolis ? ' J Omar protested, " And what's 
the harm ? He simply asked me if I wanted 
to take a ride, and I took a ride. I don't see 
anybody around Pebble Beach breaking their 
neck to be nice to me/' 

tf After the way he treated us, I should 
think you would have more pride," I said, 
mildly, but Omar merely scowled at me and 
did something insulting with his thumb. 

Presently there came the tourist advance- 
guard into Pebble Reach < and with it fresh 
and diverse art ivi ties. Telegrams and letters 
arrived daily for Monsieur Ankerman, re- 
questing terms, rooms, and bungalows with 
southern exposure. All was excitement and 
the pleasurable commotion of a live summer 


CUB, »A& MlUMf in IflEf Wll.'!-'l.i. '-" fciiJ- idrttnwKii, 



resort getting under way for a large season. 
In the midst of this hum and bustle our 
employer came in and asked us how about 
the Fourth of July. 

" We always try to have a rousing celebra- 
tion on the Fourth/' he explained, " and this 
year, we've got to outdo ourselves. We've 
got to have a tremendous Fourth, because 
we'll have a tremendous crowd, all of whom 
are potential residents." 

" Oh, sure," Harmony said, vaguely. 

" I'd like to have a regular programme of 
events with the usual fireworks, speeches, 
sporting contests, and so forth; but what I 
mostly want is something new, unique, and 
striking — some big stunt that we can yell 
about in our advertising. Consequently it 
will have to be a novelty. This place isn't 
full up by a long shot, and if we can come 
through with a whacking Fourth of July, 
we'll hook many an undecided prospect." 

" Oh, sure," Harmony said again. 

" Give it some thought," Ankerman com- 
manded us, and then he departed. I violate 
no secret confidence when I say that Harmony 
and I did give that proposed celebration some 
thought. W r e darn near blew out all our 
fuses trying to think of something, but 
without conspicuous success. It was easy 
enough to prepare an attractive programme, 
but what we lacked was the big novelty. 
Several things occurred to our joint minds, 
but when we suggested them Ankerman 
turned them down. Omar heard about 
what we were trying to do and gloated. 

" Why should he ask you two mental 
misfits for an idea ? " he inquired. ** You 
wouldn't know a big idea if it crawled into 
the bath-tub with you and began washing 

" Then you think of something for us," 
Harmony suggested in tones of sweet sarcasm. 
" Take your brain out of its moth balls and 
evolve a unique idea. So far you haven't 
earned the price of a tapioca pudding." 

" I probably shall," Omar answered, 
calmly. " I shall probably set myself down 
and think of something. You two alleged 
experts are all right when we're running a 
crooked game, but when it comes to honest 
doings you're helpless because your minds 
don't work honest." 

The funny part is that the little sand squab 
did think of something. Strange as it may 
sound, he came across with a July the Fourth 
idea, and, being violently jealous of me and 
Harmony, he hurried to the office of Mr. 
Ankerman prepared to demonstrate who was 
the real brains of the outfit. He told the 
hotel magnate his suggestion ; it was ap- 
proved, and he came bounding up to the 
rooms, where he rushed in on us as we 
struggled with the daily routine. 

" I said I'd show you up," he howled, 

by Google 

" and I did. Ankerman says I've got a 
great idea. And besides that he has agreed 
to put me on the pay roll on July the first. 
Only there's a slight difference. He says 
I might as well have seventy-five a week 
and that he's surprised at me. Get that ? 
Seventy-five ! " 

I looked at him to see if he was lying. 

" Tell us all about it," Harmony said, in 
a tone of simulated kindness. " I'm willing 
to admit that you might accidentally run 
into a thought." • 

14 Oh, you are, are you ? How generous ! 
You and George fell down on the most im- 
portant part of this July the Fourth Durbar, 
and you realize it. Now I come across with 
the big idea. After this, when we go into a 
business together, try to remember that I'm 
one of us, and don't push me out in the 

'' What is your idea, Omar ? " I inquired. 

Then he told us, lolling back proudly on 
the couch and acting artistic and important 
like the leader of an orchestra. 

" If it wasn't for hats and hair, you 
wouldn't ever need your heads at all," he 
remarked, blowing a triumphant cloud of 
smoke. " My idea is this. The people of 
California have been reading of how the 
Germans blow up passenger steamers at sea. 
They have never seen such a thing, or any- 
thing like it. They are interested. I propoce 
to show them exactly how a stately liner is 
torpedoed in mid-ocean, all very spectacular, 
and ending up the day's exercises, the un- 
important parts of which have been arranged 
by you and Harmony." 

" How ? " I demanded. 

" Blow up a ship," explained Omar. 
*' Blast it to the high portals of heaven before 
their eyes. Torpedo it while they look on,* 
with the passengers taking to the boats in 
panic, the torpedo rushing through the calm 
sea toward the doomed ship, children 
shrieking and so forth, etcetera. The tourists 
sit along the rim of the sea in their motors 
and watch this spectacle. Ankerman says 
it's the finest thing he ever heard of and will 
draw a crowd. It draws me seventy- five 
dollars a week, too, beginning July the first. 
Now am 1 any good or not ? 

" Blow up a real ship ! " Harmony said, 
in tones of incredulity. 

" Certainly," grinned Omar. 

" Where'll you get a ship ? " Harmony 

"Oh," said Omar, calmly, "I've got it 
already. I'm not like you two. When I 
start anything, I finish it." 

From that hour he was the most arrogant 
and intolerable little beast you can imagine. 
He lorded it over us constantly, and we 
refrained from killing him because we knew 
his mother. 

Original from 




" Where are you going to get this ship ? " 
Harmony demanded, repeatedly, only to be 
informed that the larger phases of business 
affairs should always be left in the hands of 
big men. He declined to discuss his mid- 
ocean Teutonic outrage with us at all. He 
merely stated that it would be a large, 
impressive-looking vessel, equipped with a 
couple of funnels to give it the real liner look, 
a false superstructure similar to the Mauve • 
tenia's, plenty of port-holes, boats hanging 
drunkenly from the davits, and so forth. 

" The idea is to torpedo her just about 
dusk," he explained, as though talking to a 
couple of small and backward children. 
" She will be loaded with dynamite, T.N.T., 
guncotton, nitroglycerine, and similar osten- 
. tatious poisons. We shall anchor her out 
there in the bay, where one and all can take 
a long look and behold the explosion. It will 
be a fitting climax to a large day, the details 
of which are left to lesser minds, like yours. 
Now get a move on you and advertise it 
right. You're likely to spoil it even yet." 

" You misled me about Omar," Mr. 
Ankerman said to Harmony, in a reproachful 
manner. " The little man is a real genius. 
With regard to good ideas, he's a bear." 

"He's something with four feet all right," 
Harmony agreed, sourly, " but not a bear. 
Jackass is the right word." 

On the third of July the long-awaited and 
mysterious ocean liner came into Pebble 
Beach, worked by a timid crew and directed 
from the shore by O. Gill, master mariner. 
Her hold was full of quick-burning explosives, 
and the crew walked in bare feet and very 
.gently while they let down the anchors in 
the spot appointed by the rough-mannered 
sea-dog in the rowboat who put out to meet 
them, that same being our Omar. 

" It ain't a bad idea," I said to Harmony 
on the morning of the Fourth, looking out to 
sea. " That old tub isn't exactly an ocean 
• liner, but it looks like one, and the blowing up 
will be interesting. We may be doing Omar 
an injustice." 

" If it was anybody besides Omar Gill, I'd 
have more confidence," he said, gloomily. 

I will pass lightly over the events that 
intervened. The populace came to Pebble 
Beach as they had never come before, and a 
good many of them looked at the Ankerman 
bungalows and announced that they would 
probably stay for the season instead of going 
to El Camino as usual. 

I met Harmony in the early afternoon 
of the great day, and we stood in front of 
the hotel, in a meditative mood, gazing upon 
the animated scene spreading before us. 
Out on the azure bay rowboats darted about, 
pursued by the motor launches, and in the 
middle of everything, a grim and sinister 

figure, stood Omar's ocean liner, contem- 
plating its last day on water. Everything 
'was indeed propitious. 

" George," said Harmony, in a serious 
way, " I don't know but what honesty pays 
after all. Here we are getting a nice salary 
along with our board and lodging, and all this 
prosperity is our own handiwork. We ought 
always to think of this if we're ever tempted 
again to do wrongful acts." 

" True," I admitted. " There's some- 
thing in that, Harmony." 

" Yah," said a voice, approaching us, 
14 but where would you be without Omar 
Gill, eh ? I ask you that. Who brought 
these crowds ? Didn't they come here 
to look at my German explosion ? Sure 
they did. I'm the one that put this beach 
on the map, and don't forget it." 

As dusk approached the crowds sought 
points of vantage from which to see exactly 
how it looked when a German torpedo 
plunged into a defenceless ship at sea. 
They climbed on the high rocks behind the 
Golden Knoll, crawled upon their cars, 
and fought politely for good seats on the 
hotel verandas. 

Omar galloped around as busy as a three- 
headed cat in a bird-shop. He was every- 
where at once, giving orders to people in 
a loud, impudent voice, and at eight o'clock, 
soon after dusk, the fake ocean liner began 
to light up from stem to stern. This was 
achieved by a stevedore carrying lanterns, 
which he hung carefully all over the ship, 
decorating her and bringing out her outlines. 
Everybody said, " Ah!" like when a sky- 
rocket bursts, and promptly at fifteen 
minutes past eight O. Gill, the demon idea- 
getter, pushed the electric button and blew 
his liner into nine million pieces ; maybe 

Augustus Ankerman personally congratu- 
lated Omar Gill, and I thought the little 
weasel would burst with pride. It being 
a hard day on one and all, the folks began 
to drift up to bed soon after the explosion, 
and gradually the sights and sounds of 
Pebble Beach faded away and the mantle 
of night stole over all. The last thing I 
recall was Omar, walking up and down in 
our rooms with a lighted cigarette, calling 
our attention to how good he was. 

" After this," he said, gently, " whenever 
you two hounds get yourselves into a fix, 
you'd better consult me. I'm a natural 
fountain of ideas, I am." 

" Dry up," Harmony said, sleepily, and 
thereafter peace reigned. 

I remember that I awakened about four 
in the morning, oppressed by a strange, 
uncanny presentiment that all was not 
well in the world. I crept out of bed and 
slid over to the open window. There was 




a "brilliant moon aloft under the clear blue 
dome of heaven, and I noticed with some, 
astonishment that several figures were stir- 
ring down on the beach, . although it was 
approaching the hour of dawn. Among 
them was Augustus Peabody Ankerman. 

Likewise I became suddeuly aware of 
the most profound, penetrating, and evil 
odour that I have ever smelled in this 
world. I breathed in a quick lungful and 
reeled back from the open window. I 
called hoarsely to Harmony, and he stumbled 
out of his room and joined me by the window. 
" What is it ? " he gasped, reaching for 
his nose. ' 

" Garlic," I said, in a strangled whisper. 

" Where is it coming from 7 " ' - ' 

I pointed a trembling but eloquent finger 
toward the beach. \ thin, white line of 
breakers was curling in over the hard sand ; 
and there was aiso another thin, white line 
of something that was not breakers or foam 
or salt water. It was a sort of hazy, scummy- 
looking substance, floating like thistle-down 
upon the rollers and dashing upon the 

" You mean that white stuff ? " he 
demanded, in horror/ but still clinging to 
his beak. * M Garlic ? " 

" I think so," I said, dazedly. " Let's 
wake up Omar, and we'll go and see." 

We went in and looked upon Omar. He ■ 
was lying there innocently upon his back, 
with his mouth open, making noises like 
a rhinoceros dying in pain. We dragged 
him out of bed by the neck and flung him 
to his feet. 

" Wassa marrer ? " he inquired. 

" I dunno," I admitted, " but it looks 
to me like the end of the world. Do you 
smell anything ? " 

He roused himself and said that he 
thought he detected the faint odour of 
gardenias. In silent haste the three of us 
dressed and sped rapidly from our rooms, 
out of the silent and sleeping hotel, and down 
to the beach, taking the back way. At 
the edge of the surf we paused and nearly 
keeled over. Man alive, how it did rise 
up and smite upon our noses ! I bent over 
gingerly and examined the thin, grey layer 
of scum-like substance that floated lazily 
in and out with the sighing surf. It was 
garlic. There was no doubt. And it was 
the most trenchant, far-reaching, and horse- 
powerful garlic I have ever encountered. 
It reached up and down the beach, both ways, 
as far as the eye could see in that dim light. 

A bit of charred wreckage drifted in and 
settled at my feet even as we gazed. It 
was a part of one of the false funnels off 
Omar's torpedoed liner. I turned and grabbed 
Omar by the collar. 
i " You see that stuff ? " I said to him. 

by Google 

" Yes, and I smell it, too," he replied, 

" Where did you get that ship you blew 
up ? " 

" What's that got to do with the garlic ? " 
he asked in dumb, Omaric astonishment. 

Harmony walked over and confronted 
him, pushing me gently out of the way, 
and I saw in his eye that Omar had come 
to the end Of his rope. We both began to 
perceive something, and one of the things 
I saw was the end of those fifty-dollar jobs, 
with our first pay-day still to come. Like- 
wise I beheld in my mind the vanishing ot 
our lovely rooms, with board. Harmony 
saw the same thing, and when he addressed 
the shaking Omar I scarcely recognized 
his voice. 

" Where did you get that boat ? " he 
asked, very low arid tense. 

"' Why," said our thinker, • trying to 
assume a light and nonchalant manner, 
" I got it from Mr. Mayor Tukes of El 
Camino." * ■ 

" Holy suffering salt mackerel," Har- 
mony groaned, and he stepped into the surf. 
I stood there in thought. As I reflected I 
recalled that El Camino Harbour is always 
full of craft that have come in from the 
ports down coast, bearing their cargoes of 
produce, to be shipped inland by rail. They 
bring potatoes, do these coasting vessels, 
and beans, and sugar beets, and oranges 
and lemons and walnuts from the great and 
fertile Imperial Valley, and likewise there 
comes on them an occasional cargo of the 
famous and outrageous Imperial Valley 
garlic, than which there can be nothing 
more devastating in Nature. They tell me 
Italian garlic from the slopes of Vesuvius 
is a powerful drug, with a kick that can 
dethrone kings, but Italian garlic is a sweet, 
delicate, and innocent bloom compared to 
this armour-piercing stuff they grow in 

" You see," I said to Harmony, as calmly 
as I could, " he's ruined everything. The 
little toad has simply blown up a whole 
boatload of garlic, at the suggestion of and 
provided by Mayor Tukes. He has shattered 
and grated, and desiccated, and chewed 
up a shipload of this infernal stuff, and it is 
now spread along thirty-one miles of a con- 
cave beach, where it will never go away. 
I make a motion. Let's start out of here 
now, before the light gets strong and crime 
is committed." 

Off in the distance people were hastening 
out of their bungalows, and the murmur of 
inquiring voices grew louder, but not as 
loud as the voice of Augustus Peabody 
Ankerman. He was walking around in 
frantic circles asking people to direct him 
to us. 

Original from 



"Where are 
they ?" lie yelled, 
and we cduld hear 
the echo rambling 
up and down the 

" Yliear ? " I 
said, in a low 
voice, to my pals. 
" Y'hear that? 
He %^ants us I " 

" And it won't 
do us any good if 
he finds us/ J Har- 
mony answered, 
4 Let's go down 
this way and get 
in behind that row 
of trees/' 

11 Well," said 
Omar, as we 
trotted on towards 
the sheltering 
eucalyptus trees, 
" I don't under- 
stand this yet, 
Mortimer Tukes is 
a friend of mine. 
To tell the truth, 
he suggested blow- 
ing up the ocean 
liner to me, and 
not only that, but 
he supplied me 

with the ship, packed in the dynamite, and 
everything. All I did was to bring it over 
here and push the ty.itton. J ' 

" That ain't all you did/' Harmony 
replied, hoarsely. " You've ruined the first 
good business chance we've had for years. 


But, after aU, it's my own fault for trying 
to make an honest man out of you. You 
can't make a silk purse out of a turnip." 

We drew three long breaths and started 
silently in the general direction of the North 


(The Third of the Series.) 
H itrgF-5 were built upon it in the davw 
Ere London waM eons u mod in fiery bW:>. 

1. Tin alow but sure : despise it in your cricket 
And often it * M make yon lose your wicket. 

2 K Light bine or dark T wielded by lusty man : 
hi eighteen twenty -nine the race began. 

3. His aon, though bom when taxic.&hs were not + 
Was wondrous speedy in hb chariot* 

4. For him In vain, did Johnson intercede. 
Though few with such persuasiveness could plead. 

5. Here is the ship, in sailors 1 phrase, which lies 
Within the vision of unaided eyes. 

6. " What** in it ? " Juliet cried. Does not a rose 
Without it at ill give pleasure to the nose ? 


Answer* to Acrostit 
Acrostic Editor, The 
Street* SNd, London 

Xo. 75 should he uddnswd to th* 
St&4!tp Magazine, Southampton 
TJ\C*2. and must arrive not later 


ikan h\f the first post on January Wth. 

To every light one alternative anw^r m*t*j V **'Ht 


should fie written at the aide. At /fce foot of hi* answer every 
*oli-er should write ftia pMtidanyttk and nothing else.. 






Answer to No* 73. 







n t r i 
a r o 1 i 
i n 
d e 
i a r 
o n 




Notes.— Light J. Ant. rim. 5. Zeus. 8. C, 100; one. 

Notes. - 

-Light 3 





Answer to No. 
E b 

A I 

,R uJe 

L A 

Y d & 

, Ali Bab*. 4. Lad. glad. 

Correspondents who writ* to the Acrostic Editor and 
desire answers should enclose a stamped addressed 
envelope with ihv'17 letters, wi-i the A. E. will endeavour 
to reply ■ Lads, pi. apace makes it impossible to ana war 

in »riq 



The Greatest Romance of Real Life 

ever told—the Life- Story of Colonel Lawrence, who raised an army of 200,000 
Arabs. Colonel Lawrence is now admittedly 

One of our World Heroes, 

For many years he lived wkh the Arabs, To them he became a great white god. 
They would not have betrayed him for all the gold in the world. At twenty- six 
he was 

the uncrowned King of the Hejaz, Prince of Mecca, 

His fame will go down to posterity. His amazing life has been written \y Mr, 
Lowell Thomas, who met and lived with Lawrence in the deserts of Arabia, and 
whose thrilling account of the campaign in the Holy Land has attracted nearly 
half a million people to the Albert Hall and Covent Garden Opera House. 


"Everything that Mr. Lowell Thomas say* about Colonel Lawrence 
la true. In my opinion. Colonel Lawrence is one of the most 
remarkable and romantic figure* of modern times " 

mwhi ct * m m m 










Thi* instalment introduces 
Colonel Lawrence to the 
reader and give* an outline 
of the rtriking events whtch t 
later on, are to be described 
in full. See the announcement 
at the end of the article, 


ONE Hay, not long after 
General A lien by had 
captured Jerusalem, I 
happened to be in front 
of a bazaar on Christian 
Street remonstrating with a 
fat old Turkish shopkeeper 
who was attempting to 
charge twenty piastres for 
a handful of dates. My 
attention was drawn to a group of Arabs 
walking in the direction of the Damascus 
Cate, The fact that they were Arabs was 
not what caused rns to drop my tirade 
against the high cost of dates, because 
Palestine is inhabited by a far greater 
number of Arabs than Jews. My curiosity 
was excited by a single Bedouin, who stood 

Copyright, 19 19, by 



out in sharp relief from all 
his com pan ions. He was 
wearing an agal, kuffieh, 
and abba such as are worn 
in the Xear East only by 
native rulers. In his belt 
was fastened the short 
curved gold sword of a 
prince of Mecca, insignia 
that marked him as a des- 
cendant of the Prophet. 

Christian Street is one of 
the most picturesque and 
kaleidoscopic thoroughfares 
in all Asia Minor. Russian 
Jews, Greek priests in tall 
black hats and flowing 
robes, desert nomads in goat- 
skin coats like those worn 
in the time of Abraham t 
Turks with red tarbooshes, 
Arab merchants lending a 
brilliant note with their gay 
turbans and gowns — all rub 
elbows in that narrow lane 
of bazaars and shops and 
coffee-houses that leads to 
the Church of the Holy 
Sepulchre, Jerusalem is not 
a melting-pot, It is an 
uncompromising meeting- 
place of East and West- 
Here are accentuated, as 
if sharply outlined in black 
and white by the desert 
sun, the racial peculiarities 
of Christian, Jewish, and 
Mohammedan peoples, A 
stranger must, indeed, have something 
extraordinary about him to attract attention 
on the streets of the Holy City, But as this 
young Bedouin passed by in his magnificent 
royal robes, the crowds in front of the 
bazaars turned to look at him. 

It was net merely his costume* It was 
noti^^^^ffl^ he carried his 

Low* 1 1 Thomas 




five foot three, marking him every inch a 
king, or at least a caliph in disguise, who 
had stepped out of the pages of " The Arabian 
Nights " to examine the latest improvements 
in warfare. The striking fact was that the 
mysterious prince of Mecca looked no more 
like a son of Ishmael than an Abyssinian 
looks like one of Stefansson's Eskimos. 
Bedouins, although of the Caucasian race, 
have l\ad their skins scorched by the relent- 
less- desert sun until their complexions are 
the colour of lava. But. this chap was as 
blond as a Scandinavian, in whose veins 
flows Viking blood and the cool tradition of 
fiords and sagas. The nomadic sons of 
Ishmael all wear flowing beards, as their 
ancestors did in the time of Abraham. The 
youth with the curved gold sword was clean- 
shaven. He walked rapidly, with his hands 
folded. His blue eyes, oblivious to his sur- 
roundings, were wrapped in some inner 
contemplation. My first thought, as I 
glanced at his face, was that he might be 
one of the youngest of the apostles returned 
to life. His expression was serene, almost 
saintly, in its selflessness and repose. 

° Who is he ? " I turned eagerly to the 
Turkish shopkeeper, who could only manip- 
ulate a little tourist English. He only 
shrugged his shoulders. 

Who could he be ? I was certain of getting 
some information about him from General 
Sir Ronald Storrs, Govetnor of the Holy 
City ; so I strolled over in the direction of 
his palace, just outside the old wall near the 
quarries of King Solomon. General Storrs 
was Oriental Secretary to the High Com- 
missioner of Egypt before the fall of Jeru- 
salem, and always kept in intimate touch 
with the peoples of Palestine. He speaks 
Hebrew, Arabic, Greek, and Latin, with 
much the same fluency and charm that he 
speaks English. I knew he could tell me 
something about my blond Bedouin. 

" Who is the blue-eyed youth with the 
curved sword of a prince of " 

The General did not even let me finish the 
question. He quietly opened the door of an 
adjoining room. There, seated in a com- 
fortable Morris-chair, with his feet dis- 
respectfully planted on the same table 
where the German General, Falkenhayn, 
worked out his unsuccessful plan for defeating 
Allenby, was the Bedouin prince who had 
passed me on Christian Street earlier in the 
afternoon. He was deeply absorbed in a 
ponderous tome on archaeology. 

In introducing us, General Storrs said : 
" I want you to meet Colonel Lawrence, the 
" uncrowned King of Arabia.' " 

He shook hands courteously, but shyly, 
and with a certain air of aloofness, as if his 
mind was on buried treasures and not on 
the affairs of this immediate world of cam- 

L o 

paigns and warfare. And that was how I 
first made the acquaintance of one of the 
most unique and picturesque personalities of 
modern times,* a man who will be blazoned 
on the romantic pages of history with Sir 
Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Drake, Lord 
Clive, Chinese Gordon, and Kitchener of 

During the last five years of epic events, 
among others, two remarkable figures have 
appeared. The dashing adventures and 
anecdotes of their careers will furnish golden 
themes to the writers of the future, as the 
lives of Ulysses, King Arthur, and Richard 
the Lt on-Hearted to the poets, troubadours, 
and chroniclers of other days. One is a 
massive, towering, square-jawed six-footer — 
that smashing British cavalry leader, Field- 
Marshal Lord Allenby, Commander of the 
Twentieth Century Crusaders, who has gained 
world-fame because of his exploit in driving 
the Turks from the Holy Land, downing the 
Crescent, and raising the Cross over Jerusalem. 
The other is the undersized, beardless youth 
whom I first saw absorbed in a technical 
treatise on the cuneiform inscriptions 
discovered on the bricks of ancient Babylon. 


The spectacular achievements of Thomas 
Edward Lawrence, the young Oxford gradu- 
ate, are stil! unknown except to a handful 
of his associates. Yet quietly, without any 
theatrical headlines or fanfare of trumpets, 
he brought the disunited nomadic tribes of 
Arabia into a unified campaign against their 
Turkish oppressors — a difficult and splendid 
stroke of policy which caliphs, statesmen, 
and sultans had been unable to accomplish 
in centuries of effort. Lawrence placed him- 
self at the head of the Bedouin army of the 
King of the Hejaz, drove the Turks from 
Arabia, and restored the caliphate to the 
descendants of the Prophet. Allenby 
liberated Palestine, the holy land of Jews 
and Christians ; Lawrence freed Arabia, the 
holy land of millions of Mohammedans. 

I had heard of the mysterious Lawrence 
many times during the months I was in 
Palestine with General Allenby. On my 
way from Italy to Egypt, one of the officers 
on the cruiser told me that an Englishman 
was supposed to be in command of an army 
of wild Bedouins somewhere in the trackless 
deserts of the far-off land of *' The Arabian 
Nights." This was the first rumour which 
reached me of Lawrence's exploits. In Egypt 
and Palestine I heard fantastic tales of his 
exploits. And always his name was men- 
tioned in solemn, hushed tones, because at 
this time the Arabian affair was supposed to 
be a secret. I^awrence became to me a new 
Oriental legend of tiie war in the making, 




and until the day I met him in the 
palace of the Governor of Jerusalem I 
had been unable to picture him as a real 
person. Cairo, Jerusalem, Damascus, 
Bagdad, in iact all the cities of the 
Near East, are so full of colour and 
romance that the mere mention of them 
is sufficient to stimulate the imagination 
of matter-of-fact Westerners, who are 
suddenly spirited away on the magic 
carpet of memory to scenes famiiiar 
through the 





hood. So 1 had corne to the conclusion that 
Lawrence was the product only of Western 
imagination overheated by exuberant con- 
tact with the East. But the myth turned 
out to be very much of a reality. 


The five- foot-three Englishman standing 
before me, in his brown camel's gown, over 
which hung his kuflfieh or head-dress of 
heavy white brocaded silk, covered with 
gold embroidery, underneath a snow-white 
robe tied with a gold -embroidered belt in 
which he carried the curved sword oi a 
prince of Mecca, all set off regaUy by the 
agal, the head -band of heavy cords wrapped 
with silver and gold threads that held the 
kufiieh in place — was the real ruler of 
Arabia. He was the commander-in-chief 
of an army of more than two hundred 
thousand Bedouins mounted on racing camels 
and fleet Arabian horses. He was the terror 
of the Tiirks, Destiny had never played a 
stranger prank than when it selected as the 
man to play the major rdie in the liberation 
of Arabia an Oxford graduate whose life 
ambition was to dig in the ruins of antiquity 
and uncover and study long-forgotten cities. 
I was greatly impressed with Lawrence 
from the first. Realizing that he was a man 
destined to occupy a prominent position in 
history, and not knowing at that time that 

it would be my good fortune to join him 
.later in Arabia as the only person given the 
opportunity of recording his almost un- 
believable achievements, I spent a good deal 
of time with him during the following days 
in Jerusalem before he returned to his 
Arabian army. When Lawrence was in the 
company of officers who were more or less 
strangers to him, he usually sat in a corner, 
listening intently to everything that was 
being said, but contributing nothing to the 
conversation himself. After we became 
better acquainted, through his discovery 
that archaeology held a fascination for me 
also, he would invariably, when we were 
alone, get up from his chair and squat on 
the floor Bedouin fashion, He had lived so 
long in the desert that it was more natural 
for him to act like an Arab nomad than a 
European, I made many unsuccessful 
attempts to induce him to tell something of 
his life, but he always adroitly changed the 
subject. Even concerning his connection 
with the Arabian army, he woukl say nothing 
except to give the credit i or everything that 
happened in the desert campaigns to the 
Arab leaders. The only subjects on which I 
could persuade him to talk in other than 
monosyllables were archaeology, comparative 
religion, Greek literature, and Near Eastern 

politics, Oriainalfmm 

His home is m Oxford^ and his parents 
beloW£J I "iERjtHSf ftE^t H IbAAfale- class. His 



father's name was Thomas also, and he 
was a large landowner in Ireland, and a 
famous sportsman a generation ago. At 
one time the family was wealthy, but they 
lost most of their worldly possessions as the 
result of legislation during the Gladstonian 
period, when the bottom fell out of land 
values in Ireland. 

The Lawrence family originally came from 
Galway, Ireland, several hundred years ago. 
This partly accounts for Lawrence's rather 
remarkable powers of physical endurance, 
because the people of Galway are among the 
hardiest of their race. This light-haired 
" prince of Mecca " belongs to the same 
family as his famous predecessor, John 
Lawrence, who was one of Britain's Empire 
builders in India at the time of the Great 

Colonel T. E. Lawrence was born in 
Carnarvon, the same county in Wales that 
Lloyd George comes from, and the Prime 
Minister is one of the former's -yvarmest 
frionds and admirers. In fact, it is a case 
of mutual admiration. Mr. Lloyd George 
kept in close touch with Lawrence's work 
in the desert, and consulted with him con- 
stantly during the sessions of the Peace 
Conference in Paris, which Lawrence attended 
as the real head of the Arabian delegation. 

As a boy he lived for five years in Jersey, 
one of the Channel Islands. When ten years 
of age his family moved to Northern Scotland, 
where they remained for three years. Then 
they moved to France, where Lawrence 
attended a Jesuit College for several years. 
From the Continent the Lawrences came to 
Oxford, where Thomas attended a day 
school for a short time, although nearly all 
his preparatory work was done with tutors. 
Then he attended Oxford University, or, at 
any rate, took the examinations which 
enabled him to receive his degree. 

There were four other boys in the family, 
one older and three younger. The eldest, 
Montague, is a Major in the Royal Arm}' 
Medical Corps ; the youngest is now attend- 
ing Oxford ; while the other two, William 
and Frank, were killed on the Western 
Front. William was a teacher in a school 
at Delhi, India, before the war, and Frank 
was just out of Oxford. 

All his life, Colonel Lawrence has been 
a student of peoples both of the present 
and pf the past ; but, so far as I know, he has 
never had any intimate friends and has pre- 
ferred to stand on one side and watch others. 
He has a very sympathetic nature, and would 
rather help a downtrodden people to assert 
their rights than to amass all the wealth 
in the world. He has unusual ability 
when it comes to mastering languages, 
among them being English, French, Italian, 
Spanish, German, Greek, Latin, Dutch, 

Norwegian, and Arabic. Unquestionably he 
is one of the greatest living Arabic scholars 
and one of the few Europeans who has 
ever mastered the pure Arabic of Central 
Arabia. Among the other Arabic dialects 
wliich he speaks are Syrian, Palestinian, 
Allepian, and Mesopotamian. 

During his University career at Oxford 
he was noted for being a recluse. Frequently 
he would disappear most unexpectedly 
from the University for long tramps about 
Europe, He has always been eccentric 
in his habits. Although he finished the 
regular four years of academic work at 
Oxford in three, he never attended a single 
lecture during his college days, preferring 
to spend most of his time reading mediaeval 
literature. Much of the time he preferred 
to sleep during the day and work at light. 
He has never yet dined with anyone in the 
three Oxford Colleges which he attended 
— Jesus, Magdalen, and All Souls. 

Lawrence has always been a keen student 
of military writers. His favourite work, 
until he took part in the Arabian campaign, 
was Marshal Foch's " Principe de Guerre " ; 
although he once told me in Arabia that 
his study of Caesar and Xenophon had been 
of more value to him in his desert campaign, 
because in his irregular war against the 
Turks he had to adopt directly opposite 
tactics from those advocated by Marshal 
Foch. He has also been a keen student 
of mediaeval French literature, and is par- 
ticularly fond of Gothic art. 


In 1908, before he finished his University 
work, he urged his parents to allow him to 
go to the Near East. At' the time he was 
engaged in writing a book on the military 
architecture of the Crusades, and he wanted 
to go over the actual ground covered by 
the Crusaders. His family finally gave him 
permission .and one hundred pounds, fully 
expecting that he would spend it in making 
a flying Cook's tour of Asia Minor, Syria, 
and Palestine, and return home quite ready 
to settle down and forget the Orient. But 
he scorned tourists' comforts and the beaten 
track. As soon as he arrived in Syria he 
adopted native costume and tramped bare- 
foot over thousands of miles of unknown 
desert country, living with the various 
Bedouin tribes, and studying the manners 
and customs of all that complicated mosaic 
of peoples who dwell in the ancient corridor 
between Mesopotamia and the Nile Valley. 
When he finally returned to England to 
complete his studies, he still had fifty pounds 
left of the original sum which his family 
had given him, and he merely remained 
at home long enough to finish his studies 




that he might return to the Near East 
better equipped in his speciality. 

Several years before the war, in iqoS, 
the Oxford expedition headed by I^awrence's 
friend, Commander Hogarth, began exca- 
vations in the Euphrates Valley for the pur- 
pose of discovering new information regard- 
ing the ancient Hittites. Because of Law- 
rence's intimate knowledge of the native 
population of the Near East, Hogarth 
invited him to take charge of the Kurds, 
Turkomen, Armenians, and Arabs who 
were employed in digging. This Hogarth- 
Wool ey- Lawrence expedition uncovered part 
of Carchemish, the ancient capital of the 
Hittite Empire, Lawrence amused himself 
with studying Hittite pottery and joining 
up the stages of Hittite civilization, and he 
and his associates actually uncovered a 
«2ost civilization t which proved to be a link 
between the civilizations of Ancient Babylon 
and the East, and the beginnings of Greek 
culture in the Mediterranean Islands which 
dated from 3000 b.c. down to about 600 
bx\ Lawrence was engaged in archae- 
ological work at Carchemish off and on for 
four years, from 19 10 to 1914, and was in 
command of the digging gang, although he 
had never studied archaeology at Ox ford * 

One day in the Arabian desert, not far 
from the enchanted rose-red city of Petra, 
Lawrence remarked to mc that archaeolo- 
gical work in Egypt had never appealed 
to him, and that he would never dig there 
at any price, because most of the important 
work had already been done and because 
Egyptologists of to-day spend most of their 
time trying to find out wh£n the third 
whisker was painted on the scarab ! 

On one of his expeditions for the Palestine 
Exploration So- 
ciety, Lawrence 
and his archaeolo- 
gist companion, 
i.e. f WooIey t at- 
tempted to fol- 
low the footsteps 
of the Israelites 
through the 
wilderness, and 
they actually 
succeeded in dis- 
covering Kadesh 
Barnea of the 
Bible, where 
Moses brought 
water gushing 
from the rock* 
They located a 
place in the Sinai 
Peninsula, which 
the Bedouins 
called Am Kadis, 
where there 

was one very poor well which may qui to 
probably have been the place where the 
Israelites started complaining to Moses 
regarding the shortage of water, Lawrence 
remarked that the Israelites certainly were 
justified in u grousing >f if they had ever 
camped at that spot. Some five miles 
distant the two archaeologists found a number 
of fine springs in a little valley called 
" Gudarat/' and they are of the opinion 
that it was the place where Moses succeeded 
in regaining the confidence of the Children 
of Israel by quenching their thirst with the 
sparkling water of these springs. Here 
they also found a large and important 
ancient ruin, J^ater on, Wooley and Law- 
rence wrote a book on their expedition 
for the Palestine Exploration Society called 
" The Wilderness of Sin." On that trip, 
among other things, they discovered traces 
of a civilization dating back to 2500 b.c, 
in the Sinai Desert, the oldest traces ever 
found in that country. 

The outbreak of the Great War found 
him excavating Hittite ruins in the valley 
of the Euphrates, Lawrence had been for 
some time aware of the seriousness of the 
situation in the Near East, and realized 
that a crash was imminent. A Major Young* 
of the Intelligence Department, who had 
known Lawrence in Mesopotamia before 
he entered the British Army, told me a little 
incident which illustrated Lawrence's keen 
sense of humour. At that time, in 1914, just 
before the outbreak of the, war, the German 
engineers were working feverish! v along 
the mad of the proposed Berlin to Bagdad 
Railway- Lawrence and his brother, who 
was later killed on the Western Front, were 
excavating ruins in the hills above the 






tiwwb&w Emm? 


4 6 


railway route. He would frequently mount 
sections of drainage pipes on small mounds 
of sand on top of the hills. 

When the German engineers observed the 
innocent pipes through their field-glasses 
they mistook them for British cannon. On 
at least two occasions they wired to Con- 
stantinople and to Berlin that the British 
were fortifying the most commanding posi- 
tions in the country. The young archaeologist 
was laughing up his sleeve, but, seriously, 
he was disappointed, because he felt that 
his own Government had gone to sleep and 
had allowed the Germans to acquire almost 
complete control of the territory between 
the Bavarian border and the Persian Gulf. 
In 19 1 2, England, Germany, Russia, France, 
and Turkey signed a Treaty which gave the 
Germans the right to go ahead with the 
Berlin to Bagdad line, and what was even 
more significant, gave them control of 
Alexandretta, perhaps the most strategical 
point in the Near East. As soon as Lawrence 
learned the outcome of that conference, he 
rushed to Cairo to see Lord Kitchener, and 
asked him why England had permitted 
Germany to get control of Alexandretta. 
Kitchener replied : "I warned our Foreign 
Office constantly that their policy would be 
a fatal one, but they failed to heed me. 
Within two years there will be a world war. 
We can't stop it, so run along, young man, 
and sell your papers." 

Lawrence went back to his ancient ruins 
and toiled lovingly over inscriptions that 
unlocked the secrets of civilizations that 
flourished and crumbled to dust thousands 
of years ago. But with many other scientists 
and scholars, he was called back to Cairo 
by the British military authorities in August, 
1914. At that time be was twenty-six years 
old. He had already spent seven years 
wandering through Turkey, Syria, Palestine, 
Arabia, Mesopotamia, and Persia, and had 
acquired a more intimate knowledge of the 
peoples of Aleppo, Beirut, Jerusalem, 
Damascus, and Bagdad than almost any 
other European. 


Because the military authorities knew 
that Lawrence had lived among Arabs, 
Kurds, and Turks, and that from his explora- 
tion expeditions he might be expected to 
have a fairly good knowledge of the un- 
familiar regions of the Near East, he was 
given a commission as a second lieutenant 
in the Map Department. The British 
generals spent many hours poring over 
. maps and discussing the possibilities of 
different plans for breaking up the Turkish 
Empire. Frequently they w r ould outline a 

scheme for a campaign, and then ask the 
young lieutenant if he had any suggestions 
to make. He would often reply \ " There 
are many good points in your plan, but I 
believe it is fundamentally wrong. I think 
the campaign should be carried 'out as 
follows/' and he would point, by way of 
explanation, to short cuts across valleys, 
which he alone knew from his years of bare- 
foot travelling. The most staid old Regular 
army officers on the staff put their confidence 
in this junior lieutenant, who hardly knew 
the A B C of army tactics. His suggestions 
were adopted. In a short time he had 
established a considerable reputation for 
himself at headquarters, and became known 
to all the commanding officers of the British 
forces in the East. 

Later on, in Arabia, Lawrence frequently 
outwitted the Turks because of his superior 
knowledge of the topography of the country. 
Whenever he attacked the enemy he tried 
to. outflank them in the rear when they were 
not expecting an attack, as at the battles of 
Akaba and Aba el Lissan. Although he had 
never had much previous military experience, 
he was a born strategist, and out-thought 
and outwitted the Turkish and German 
commanders in practically every engagement 
from the time he joined Emir Feisal in the 
desert east of Wedj until he swept into 

From 19 1 4 to 19 16 young Lawrence kept 
the War Office informed regarding the move- * 
ments of the various units of the Turkish 
Army. He had native agents acting as spies 
under his orders. In the summer of 19 16 
the Arabs broke out in revolt against the 
Turks in the country of the Hejaz, which is 
that part of Arabia between the Forbidden 
City of Mecca and the southern end of the 
Dead Sea. Because of the scarcity of 
munitions, the revolutionary Arabs ran out 
of supplies after their first success, and it 
would have been impossible for them to 
have gone on if the Allies — particularly Great 
Britain — had not come to their rescue. The 
British not only sent supplies to the Arabs, 
but gave them important military encourage- 
ment ; they sent them a number of their 
most brilliant young officers to co-operate 
with the Arabs and offer them suggestions. 


The way in which Lawrence came to be 
associated with the Arab uprising is a typical 
illustration of the irregular way in which he 
does everything. Chafing under the red-tape 
of Army regulations, quite a number of 
differences had come up between General 
Sir Archibald Murray. Commander-in-Chief of 
the British Forces in the East, the members 




of his staff, and the independent young 
Lawrence. About that time Ronald Storrs, 
Oriental Secretary of the High Commissioner 
of Egypt, and a friend of Lieutenant Lawrence, 
was about to start on a trip down the Red 
Sea to Jeddah as the representative of the 

compliments, was: "When will you get to 
Damascus ? " Fcisal replied that he believed 
the first important step was to capture 
Medina, next to Mecca the holiest city of 
Islam. After two weeks with the Emir, 
Lawrence became convinced that it would 






British Foreign Office to pay his respects to 
the aged Sherif of Mecca, who had " touched 
ofl " the Arabian revolution. Lawrence had 
long realized the 1 possibility of the Arabs 
playing an important part in the war against 
Germany and Turkey in the East, and as his 
work at - G.H.O. at Cairo had become none 
too pleasant, he asked Sir Archibald Murray 
to grant him a fortnight'** leave in order that 
he might accompany Storrs on his trip down 
the Red Sea. General Headquarters in Cairo 
evidently was delighted to have the oppor- 
tunity of getting rid of the altogether too 
independent subordinate, and granted his 
request with evident pleasure. 

When Storrs and Lawrence reached Jeddah, 
the l;itirr succeeded in ^et.tinj,' permi-sinn 
from the Sherif of a lee c a to make a short 
tiip up-country to see Emir Feisal, one of 
the Sherif s sons who was engaged in 
guerilla warfare with some of the Turkish 
forces. The first thing he said to Feisal, 
after they had exchanged the usual desert 

be possible to develop a large irregular 
Arabian army, and he was so interested in 
tbis that he never went back to Cairo to 
make his apo*og\es. Evidently, Sir Archibald 
Murray and his staff were not disappointed. 
And that was the curious way in which the 
now famous Colonel T. E- Lawrence, " Prince 
of Mecca * J and uncrowned King of Arabia/' 
became connected with the revolution in tho 


In order to understand the complicated 
problem Lawrence faced, and the over- 
whelming odds against him, it is necessary 
to take a swift retrospective glance at the 
history of Arabia, The Arabian Peninsula 
is larger than the British Isles and Franca 
and Spain combined. The distance front 
Damascus to Aleppo alone is greater than 

grea^v^ejft 1 U% nearly all 



the important points. For thousands of 
years this country has been inhabited by 
wandering tribes of Bedouins and Arab 
villagers. . Although there is a population 
of over twenty million people in Arabia, the 
inhabitants have only .been loosely hold 
together by travel alliances, something like 
those that existed among the American 
Indians a century ago. For centuries no one 
has been able to bring these peoples together 
in one unified movement. Scores of generals, 
statesmen, and Sultans had struggled with 
the almost impossible mission. How this 
young British lieutenant, who had had very 
few days of military drill in his life, succeeded 
in creating a loose army of some two hundred 
thousand mounted Bedouins, how he swept 
the Turks from the Arabian Peninsula, and 
built this mosaic of peoples into a homo- 
geneous nation, is a story that I should have 
hesitated to believe had I not actually been 
with him in the desert. 

The inhabitants of Arabia belong to the 
Semitic race, and are of the same general 
family as the Jews. Some authorities say 
that Kahtan, the son of Abeis, the son of 
Shalah, the son of Arfakhshad, the son of 
Shem, the son of Noah, was the first person 
to speak the Arabic language. I know of no 
way of refuting that grave charge against 
Kahtan, but I do know that after my 
experience in Arabia I wish he might have 
used better judgment and selected Eskimo 
or some other simple language instead. 
Mohammed, the camel boy of Mecca, was 
the first person to bind together in any sort 
of unity the peoples of Arabia. He was able 
to accomplish this through his religious 
teachings and evangelization. That was more 
than a thousand years ago. After the death 
of Mohammed, Abu Bekr and AH carried 
Mohammedanism throughout nearly the whole 
world as it was known at that time. Their 
armies swept across the Near East, South - 
Eastern Europe, Africa, and Spain. The 
Arabian Empire attained its zenith in the 
seventh century of this era, and its decline 
began after the defeat of the Moslem armies 
at the Battle of Tours in a.d. 732, by Charles 
Martcl. As the power and influence of the 
Arabs slipped away from them it was usurped 
by the Ottomans, who swept down out of 
Central Asia. For five hundred years the 
Turks governed the Arabs as though they 
were an inferior race. At almost any time 
in those five centuries the desert people 
could have freed themselves had they been 
able to unite. But from the reign of Harun- 
al-Rashid down to the present time no one 
appeared in the Near East strong enough to 
bring the Arabs together. It remained for 
young T. E. Lawrence, the British archaeolo- 
gist, to go into Holy Arabia and lead the 
Arabs through the spectacular and trium- 

phant campaign which broke the backlxme 
of the Turkish Empire and the Pan* German 
dream of world dominion. 

During all those centuries of oppression, 
whenever enlightened Arabs objected strongly 
to the tyrannical rule of the Turks, the Sultan 
would invite them to take up their residence 
in Constantinople, where they would either 
be held as prisoners or would be quietly put 
out of the way. Abdul Hamid, the last great 
Sultan of Turkey, was an expert in-following 
the private policy of his predecessors. Among 
the prominent Arabs whom he found it 
advisable to have near him at the Sublime 
Porte was Sherif Hussein of Mecca, the 
oldest living descendant of Mohammed, the 
man really entitled to the caliphate, since 
the title of caliph was originally given to the 
successors of Mohammed both as spiritual 
and temporal rulers, and later was usurped 
by the Turkish masters of Arabia. Sherif 
Hussein is the sixty-eighth ruler of the 
Hejaz in the Ottoman period. No people in 
the world take more pride in their ancestry 
than the Arabs. The births in all the leading 
princely families are recorded in Mecca at the 
Holy Kaaba, a mosque built round a black 
meteoric stone, the most sacred spot in the 
world to millions of Moslems. Here on the 
roll of parchment, on which each ruling- 
Emir of Mecca has written his title, is in- 
scribed the name of Hussein Ibn AH, record- 
ing the pure and direct descent of the Sherif . 
from the prophet of Islam. For eighteen 
years, Sherif Hussein, the rightful Keeper 
of the Holy Places, was forced to live 
with his people on the Bosporus, virtually 
prisoners under the wary eye of the Red 

In the Young Turk movement the Arabs 
thought they saw the dawn of a new era of 
freedom and liberty. In fact, they played 
an important part in the revolution which 
results! in the overthrow of Abdul Hamid. 
At that time all Arabian, Armenian, Kurd, 
Greek, Syrian, and Jewish political prisoners 
who had been held in Constantinople were 
released. But the Arabs soon discovered 
that the Young Turk leaders were more 
tyrannical oppressors than bloody old Abdul 
himself, who now seemed quite respectable 
in comparison with Enver, Talaat, and 
Djemal. Sherif Hussein and other patriotic 
Arabs despaired of seeing a happier day for 
their country, when suddenly the world war 
pulled Turkey into the maelstrom with Great 
Britain, France, Russia, and Italy pitted 
against her. It was the hour of opportunity 
for Arabia. The Arabian nationalist leaders 
immediately took advantage of it. With all 
the pent-up fury and hatred of five hundred 
years of slavery and dishonour, they leapt 
at the throats of their villainous masters. 
From all parts ol ^he desert came the swarthy, 




lean, p i c i u r- 
esque sons of 
hhmael to 
avenge and free 
themselves at 

Sherif Hus- 
sein and his 
four sons had 
worked out a 
plan for the 
which they 
kept secret un- 
til a few week*; 
before they 
touched off the 
fuse. They did 
not even dare 
trust their dose 
associate*, lx?- 
cause in Turk- 
ish t e r r j tory 
plots were 
usually dis- 
covered before 
they matured, 
and no man 
knew whom he 
might trust. 
Not only were 
there spies, but 
inn u in erable 
spies on spies, 
and at that 
time the Young 
Turks were 
watching the 
Arabs as a cat 
watches a 

Early in 
J u n e, 191 6, 
when Lawrence 
was establish- 
ing his repu- 
tation as an 
authority on 

the freoffraphy of the Near East at the 
British Headquarters in Cairo, Sherif Hus- 
sein sent word to alt the tribes of Holy 
Arabia to be ready to rise at a moment's 
notice, Then, on June 13th, he gave 
the signal. Simultaneous attacks were 
launched against Mecca, a city holier than 
Jerusalem to more than two hundred and 
fifty million human beines, and Medina, 
the second holiest Mohammedan city, 
where the great Prophet is buried, and 
also at the great Arabian seanort of 
Jeddah. Hussein's sons, All and Feisal, 
were in command of the forces at Medina, 
Hussein himself supervised the attack on 
Mecca , 

Vol. IK, -4. 






The details regarding the 
origin of the Sherifian Revolt, 
as it was called, have never 
been made public before. The 
following facts, given to me 
by Kimr IVisal and his Meu- 
trruuUs, were later verified bv 

According to 
the Emir's 
story, the Sul- 
tan of Turkev 
had about 
twenty thou- 
sand picked 
troops in 
Medina, the 
northern most 
of the two holy 
Arabian cities 
and the ter- 
minus of what 
is known as the 
Hejaz Rai U 
way, which 
runs south 
of Da mas* 
cus through 
the desert 
east of the 
Jordan River, 
the Dead Sea» 
and the Hills 
of Moab. Al- 
though the 
Bedouin s 
swarmed down 
in clouds, the 
Turks drove 
them off with 
their he a v v 
artillery at 

Sherif Hus* 
sein was more successful at Mecca, The 
capture of Mecca will go down in Moham- 
medan history as one of the four or five 
great events of all time. It is my privilege 
to he the first to make public the details of 
that historic battle, as they were given to 
me by the Arab chieftains who captured 
the city and hy Mohammed Said el Sakkaf, 
Arabian Ambassador to Abyssinia, with 
whom I cruised across the Red Sea. 

?Jot more than a dozen Christians have 
succeeded in getting to Mecca, disguised 
as Mohammedans, and have lived to tell 
the tale* Thqrim^tfrdwpous of these, of 



Thousand and One Nights." Mecca is 
situated on the edge of rough mountainous 
country in a deep narrow valley, completely 
hidden on the side towards the Red Sea. It 
is surrounded by high, rocky cliffs, three of 
which were crowned with forts garrisoned 
by the Sultan's most faithful Circassian 
mercenaries and Turkish troops. On June 
13th, the day of the attack, the Arabs 
swept into the city and captured the main 
bazaar, the residential section, the Hamidieh 
or Government building, and also the Mosque 
of the Holy Kaaba. The majority. of the 
garrison fortified themselves in the barracks, 
but the Arabs .brought up one mountain 
gun which they had captured^ at Jeddah a 
few days previously. .That city was attacked 
on the same time as Mecca.: It was cap- 
tured in five days; and over one thousand 
prisoners were taken there. Five British 
merchantmen bombarded the seaport under 
Captain Boyle, : a red-headed . Irishman, 
associated with Admiral Sir Rosslyn Wemyss, 
who was commanding the Fleet in the 

The bombardment of Jeddah, which is 
the port of entry to the holy city of Mecca, 
nearly caused a revolution in India. The 
Mohammedans there are perhaps the most 
fanatical in the world, and they charged 
the British with having bombarded one 
of their holy places. But it was finally 
made clear to them that Jeddah, the seaport 
to Mecca, cannot be regarded as a holy 


Then for eight days the battle raged 
around the two smaller forts in Mecca, 
which were finally taken. All during the 
fighting the aged Sherif remained in his 
palace, although it was hit by over three 
hundred three-inch shells from the Turkish 

The Turks undoubtedly would have been 
abie to hang on for many months longer 
had it not been for their own folly. The 
Ottoman is a Mohammedan in theory only. 
He adheres to the ritual but not to the spirit 
of +he Koran. For instance, , the Prophet 
admonished all the Faithful to abstain 
from theiiise of intoxicants, and his Arabian 
followers were never known to drink wines 
or other liquors. But all the Turks of my 
acquaintance did. The soldiers in the fort, 
heedless of the deep-set religious feeling of 
their enemies and co-religionists, suddenly 
began to bombard the mosque of the Kaaba, 
the secret shrine built over the famous black 
stone which has been kissed by millions of 
pious Moslems. One shell actually struck 
the rock, burning a hole in the Holy Carpet 
and killing nine people who were kneeling 
in prayer. The Arabs were so enraged by 

this impious act that they swarmed over the 
walls of the great fort and captured it after 
desperate hand - to - hand fighting with 
daggers and knives. Thus, twenty-one days 
after the revolution had broken out, they 
were in undisputed possession of Mecca. 
With the possible exception of the combined 
capture by Allenby of Jerusalem, Damascus, 
Beirut, and Aleppo, this is the most disas- 
trous event- in modern Turkish history, 
because, with the fall of Mecca, the Ottomans 
lost the holy. Mohammedan city, the control 
of which had enabled them to usurp the 
leadership of Islam. 

Then came a long pause. The Arabs 
'were unable to. go on with their revolution 
because they -had expended ail their ammuni- 
tion. Sherif Hussein sent an appeal to 
the Allies. At this critical moment young 
Lawrence appeared on the Arabian stage. 

The British General Staff permitted Law- 
rence to remain in Arabia because they 
knew he could .speak the several languages 
of that country fluently and seemed to know 
something' about the customs of the people. 
They expected him merely to keep them 
posted on the progress of events in the 
Hejaz. But at the same time he was gij'en 
enough freedom of action to make it possible 
for him to show what he could do toward 
assisting the Arabs. 

Lawrence's arrival in Arabia was un- 
heralded. His exploits there first became 
known when he stepped up to General 
Allenby at Tsrnailia in Egypt, on the arrival 
of the great General in the East to take 
command of the Palestine Expeditionary 
Forces, and informed the new commander- 
in-chief of the capture of Akaba, one of 
the most strategical points in the Xear 
East. This incident was dramatic in its 
simplicity. General Allenby had been sent 
out from London to take the place of the 
previous British commander. 

Allenby was standing at the railway station 
walking up and down talking to Admiral 
Wemyss. Lawience was standing near by in 
Arab garb and saw a verv superior-looking 
general with the Admiral. " " Who's that ? " 
he asked of Womyss's flag - lieutenant. 
" Allenby," was the reply. " What's he 
doing here ? " queried Lawrence. M He has 
come out to take Sir Archibald Murray's 
place." Lawrence was frightfully pleased. 

A little later Lawrence informed the 
Admiral, who was the godfather of the 
Arab " show," that Akaba had been taken 
and that food was needed there very badly. 
Wemyss at once promised to send ships 
to the ancient seaport of Akaba, and then 
he told Allenby what Lawrence had said. 
The General sent for the youthful lieutenant, 
who looked very much like -a Circassian 








through than the khyber pass from india into afghanistan* it was t>uk to 

Lawrence's strategic genius that it fell. 

TUey were surrounded by throngs of 
vociferous natives who were welcoming 
Allenby, when out of the mob stepped the 
undersized, barefooted, t air-faced man in 
Bedouin garb. 

1 What's this news you've brought ? " 
said AUenby. 

When Lawrence told him, the General 
was immensely pleased, because Akaba was 
the most important point on his right 

He saluted General Allenby, and in even, 
low. tones, without any more expression 
on his face than if he were extending an 
invitation from the Sherif for dinner 
reported that the Arabs had captured the 
seaport at the head of the Gulf of Akaba, 
where the great fleet of King Solomon rode 
at anchor nearly three thousand years 
ago, Lawrence gave all the credit of the 
victory to the Arabs, and made no refer- 
ence whatever to the part that he had played 
in the affair. He conveyed the impression 
that he was acting as a courier, although, 
as a matter of fact, the capture of that 
important point was due almost entirely 
to his leadership and strategical genius. 

The most important Turkish base on the 
western coast of the Arabian peninsula 
was at Akaba, where one of the largest 
Turkish garrisons in the Near East was 
stationed. Before the Arabian army could 
advance north and unite with the British 
forces under Allenby in the campaign to 
liberate Northern Palestine and Syria, it 
was necessary for them to capture Akaba. 
As a result of Lawrence's visit to Egypt 
the British decided to co-operate more 
actively with the Arabs than they had done 
before. Lawrence was sent back to Akaba 
with unlimited power and resources, In 
less than seven months he attained such 
unexpected success that the British raised 
him in rank from a lieutenant to a colonel, 
and offered to make him a general, although 
he had had almost no military experience 
in his life and hardly knew the difference 
between * r right incline ,J and " present arms." 


During the days I spent with LawTence 
in Jerusalem, he wore nothing but Bedouin 



excited by his costume in the streets of 
the Holy City, for he was always engrossed 
in his own thoughts hundreds of miles or 
hundreds of centuries away. In Arabia he 
was never known to wear anything except 
the native costume. Occasionally, when he 
\vent to Cairo or Jerusalem to make a report 
to General Allenby, he wore the uniform of 
a British officer, but even after he attained 
the rank of colonel he preferred the uniform 
of second lieutenant, usually without insignia 
of any kind, I have seen him in the 
streets of Cairo without belt, and with 
unpolished boots — negligence 
next to high treason in the 
British Army. To my know 
ledge he was the only British 
officer in the war who so com- 
pletely disregarded all the 
little precisions and military 
formalities for which the 
British are famous. Lawrence 
rarely saluted, and when he 
did it was simply with a wave 
of the hand, as though he 
were saying, " Halloa, old 
man," to a pah I have never 
seen him stand to attention, 
and doubt if he would have 
done so in the presence of 
all the Allied rulers. He has 
never saluted anyone senior 
to him, even including his 
command er-in* chief, but he 
would always ack- 
nowledge salutes of 
soldiers. He espe- 
cially disliked the 
title of colonel. 
From general to , 

private, he was 
loiown as plain 
" Lawrence." Many 
times when we were 
trekking across the 
desert he told me 
that he thoroughly 
disliked war and 
everything that 
savoured of the 
military, and that 

as soon as the war was over he intended to 
leave the Army and go back to archeology* 

Lawrence was no parlour conversa- 
tionalist- He never said anything to any- 
one unless it was necessary to 'give instruc- 
tions, or ask advice, or answer some direct 
question. Even in the heat of the Arabian 
campaign he sought solitude. Frequently I 
found him in his tent reading an archaeo- 
logical quarterly when the rest of the camp 
was worked up to fever pitch over the 
plan of attack for the night. He was so 
shy that when General Storrs or some other 





officer tried to compliment him on one of 
his wild expeditions into the desert, he won Id 
get red as a schoolgirl and look down at liis 
feet. Although he had been cited for nearly 
every decoration that the British and French 
Governments had to offer, he sedulously ran 
away from them by camel, aeroplane, or any 
available method of swift transportation. 
The Duke of Con naught came out to Pales- 
tine to confer the Grand Cross of the Order 
of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem on 
General Allenhy. He intended to give a 
decoration to Lawrence as well. The voting 
leader of the Arabian army 
happened at the time to be 
out in the ll blue " on a 
secret expedition blowing up 
Turkish trains ; so General 
Allen by sent a fleet of aero- 
planes across the Dead Sea 
into the desert to find him. 
Messages were dropped from 
the 'planes on every Arab 
camp over which they 
m f flew, requesting that if 
anyone saw Sherif 
I^wrence he should ask 
him to report to Jeru- 
salem at once. So one 
fine day Lawrence came 
strolling in on foot through 
the Turkish lines, to show 
his utter scorn of the 
enemy, In the meantime 
the ceremony in Jerusalem 
had already taken place 
and the Duke of Con- 
naught had gone to Egypt. 
Knowing Lawrence's pe- 
culiar aversion to the 
acceptance of medals or 
military honours of any 
kind, the British official! 
succeeded in getting him 
down to Cairo only by 
inventing some plausible 
pretext, Upon his ar- 
rival, a subaltern who 
was not acquainted with 
Lawrence's eccentricities 
inadvertently tipped him 
affair that was to be 
staged for his benefit. Without stopping to 
pick up his uniform and kit at Sbepheard's 
Hotel, Lawrence hurried to the Headquarters 
of the Royal Flying Corps at the oasis of 
Heliopolis a few miles from Cairo, jumped 
into an aeroplane, and taxied back to Arabia. 
Little did Lawrence dream when he was 
studying Hit the ruins that it was his destiny 
to build a new empire instead of piecing 
together, for a scholar's thesis, the fragments 
of a dead and buric-d kingdom. Yet he 



off to the fine 


Mecca (King Hussein of the Hejaz) to such ness and reckless courage, his ability to 

an extent that he was permitted to sign the outdo them in nearly everything in wftich 

King's name to State papers. Out ot grati- .they themselves excelled. Rarely did he 

tude for his services to their country, the take them on an expedition that failed, but 

Arab leaders made him an Emir and a Prince if, by some mischance, things did go wrong, 

of Mecca, an honour unparalleled in Arabian he promptly took the same organization of 

history. King Hussein himself presented Arabs on another expedition to convince, 

his British commander with the curved gold them that there was no such thing as defeat, 

sword, worn only by direct descendants of And in going into action against the Turks, 

Mohammed. Lawrence always charged at the head of his 

Auda Abu Tayi, always sincere in his troops and was in the thick of every 

Judgments of people, once said to me : "I fight. 

have never seen a man who has such a great The Germans and Turks were not long m 

capacity for work as Lawrence. He is one discovering that there was a mysterious power 

of the finest camel drivers that ever trekked giving inspiration to the Arabs. Through 

across the desert." A Bedouin can pay no their spies they learned that Lawrence was 

finer compliment. the guiding spirit of the whole Arabian 

Lawrence won the admiration and undying revolution. They offered a reward of 

devotion of the Arabs because of his under- ^100,000 for him, dead or alive. But would 

standing of them, through his proficiency the Bedouins have betrayed their leader for 

in their dialects, and his rare knowledge of all the gold in the fabled mines of Solomon ? 

their religion, an inestimable factor in settling Was there a Judas among them ? Would 

disputes between antagonistic factions, and " thirty pieces of silver " tempt an Arab 

even more, perhaps, because of his fearless- chieftain ? 


In the next instalment Mr. Lowell Thomas will tell us how Colonel Lawrence 
was transformed from an archaeologist into the world's champion train^wrecker. 

One reason why the Germans and Turks offered rewards amounting to 
over £100.000 on the head of this shy Oxford scholar was because of the millions 
of pounds of damage which Lawrence and his wild Bedouins did along the Pilgrims' 
(or Hejaz) Railway, Turkey's only connecting link between Constantinople and 
the great Ottoman Army which remained in Medina until after the fall of Damascus 
and Aleppo. 

During the Arabian campaign young Lawrence, the lover of Greek drama 
and Gothic architecture, blew up seventy-nine Turkish railway bridges and 
trains. He did more damage to the enemy lines of communication, took more 
prisoners single-handed, and captured more loot ihan any other single individual 
during the war. He studied the use of high explosives with the same zeal that 
he studied the Crusades for his Oxford thesis. 

The act of slipping out from behind a sand dune after the passing of a Turkish 
mounted patrol along the Hejaz Railway, placing a charge of nitroglycerine in a hole 
between the sleepers, and touching off the mine with an electric switch under the 
first Turkish train going by, Lawrence playfully termed " planting tulips." 

He, of course, had scores of narrow escapes while engaged in such hazardous 
work— or sport, as he 'regarded it. On one occasion he touched off one of 
his "tulips" under a train carrying the Commander-in-Chief of the Turkish Army 
and a thousand officers and men. Lawrence escaped on his racing camel by a 
narrow margin. In the second instalment Mr. Lowell Thomas will describe in full 
this and many other of Lawrence's thrilling adventures. 

He will also describe how Lawrence captured Akaba, the ancient seaport of 
King Solomon, and the battle of Abu-el-Lissan, in which the young archaeologist and 
his daring Arab lieutenant, Auda Abu Tayi, the Bedouin Robin Hood, with a 
handful of followers mounted on racing camels and fleet Arabian steeds, charged 
a picked Turkish regiment and cut it to pieces. In this charge Lawrence's camel 
was shot from under him and his followers rode right over him, and seven bullets 
passed through Auda Abu Tayi's robes. 


The Duke of York s Column. 



YVO m i g h t y stone 
c o 1 u m 11 s domi na te 
the West-end of 
London! One of 
them, the Nelson 
Column in Trafalgar 
Square, commemo- 
rates the life and death of the must 
typical of all British heroes, of the 
man, essentially English both in his 
greatness and his limitations, to 
whom his country owes {more than 
to any other man) the mastery of 
the seas. The other column, nearly 
as high, is the Duke of York's 
Column at the bottom of Regent 
Street, within a few hundred yards 
of the Nelson Column. It is one of 
those curious ironic facts, impos- 
sible in any other country but 
Great Britain, that while the 
Nelson Column repeats to every 
passer-by a story of victory and 
g!ory, the Duke of York's Column 
tells nothing to one out of every 
thousand people who pass it, and 
to the thousandth it telU a story 
that makes for blushes and laughter. 
The Duke of York, whose mighty 
statue rivals that of Kelson, did 
nothing of any account but lose 
battles, and it certainly is a unique 
distinction for a conquered general 
to have his effigy raised high into 
the heavens. 

Frederick Augustus, Duke of 
York, was born on August i6th, 
1762, and died on January 3rd, 
1827. He was the second son of 
George III., and was his father's 
favourite. But all poor George III /s 
sons w T ere heartless and un- 
natural ; and Frederick Augus- 
tus was no better than his 

All the Georges and all their 
sons were essentially German, 
and in many respects Frederick 
Augustus was the most German 
of them all. Incidentally, when 
he was twenty-nine he married 
the Princess Fredericaof Prussia. 
In 1792 Great Britain began 
her long war against the French 
Republic, the war that continued 
long after the Republic had died, 
and Napoleon ruled France as 
Emperor. The Duke of York 


being the King's son, and having 
neither military experience nor capa- 
city, was appointed Commander- 
in-Chief of the English forces in 
Flanders. His business was to in- 
vade France from the north, and 
m this he was conspicuously un- 
successful. He was defeated at 
Dunkirk on September 7th, 1793. 
at Bois-le-Duc on September 14th, 
and at Boxtel on September 17th, 
All tliat is remembered of his 
disastrous campaign is that " the 
British Army swore dreadfully in 
Flanders," swearing, by the way, 
being an accomplishment in which 
Frederick Augustus and all his 
many brothers were notably pro- 
ficient. As a reward for his failure 
the Duke . of York was made a 
Field-Marshal by his doting father 
ill 1793, and in 179S was appointed 
Commander-in-Chief of the British 
Army* He had yet to add one 
more expensive failure to his re- 
cord, for in the following year he 
commanded an army that was sent 
to the Continent to drive the French 
out of Holland, and was hadly de- 
tea ted at A I km a a r» 

He was satirized as the Miss-lead 
General on account of his liaison 
with Mrs, Mary Anne Clarke, who 
made money out of her intimacy 
with him by promising promotion 
to officers who paid her for her 
recommendations- There was a 
committee who took evidence on 
oath, and York was judged to have 
^hown the most reprehensible care- 
lessness in his dealings with Mrs. 
Clarke, but he could not be 
convicted of receiving money 
himself — although one hundred 
and, ninety-six of the House of 
Commons believed him guilty, 

In private life the Duke was 
a voluptuary. He spent much 
of his time in the Watier Club, 
and he gambled with the most 
reckless of the idle beaux of 
the Regency- Beau Brummell 
was one of his intimates, Charles 
Greville managed his racing stud* 
His duties at the Horse Guards 
did not prevent him sitting up 
riiit Van' small hours every day 



in london. UNIVERflflOePiWCHiaWJdnuik as all 



men in his unpleasant set did drink in those 
days, and he finally, most appropriately, 
died of dropsy. 

He was buried on a particularly bleak day. 
In order to prevent his feet from becoming 
to\d and wet, the great Lord Eldon stood 
inside his hat during the ceremony at the 
graveside, and that is practically all that 
there is to be said concerning Frederick 
Augustus, Duke of York, loser of battles. 

In 1 83 1 his colleagues at the Horse 
Guards decided that so great a man should 
have a great and glorious monument. 
Carlton House, where George IV. held his 
raffish court during the Regency, had just 
been pulled down ; Carlton House Terrace 
had just been built, and the new grand 
entrance into St.. James's Park constructed, 
and it had been originally intended to fill 
the open space at the top of the steps with 
a fountain formed of the columns taken from 
the front of Carlton House. These columns, 
however, were used to support the portico of 
the National Gallery, and the Duke of York's 
Column, designed by Benjamin Wyatt, with 
the statue, the work of Sir Richard Westma- 
cott, R.A., the leading sculptor of his day, 
took the place of the fountain. And 
there to this day stands the general who 
lost every battle that he fought; on a 
column a hundred and twenty-four feet 
high, and with a lightning conductor on top 
of his head. A contemporary ioke on the 
completion of the monument was to inquire 
the use of the spike on top (the lightning 
conductor). "Why, to file his bills, of 
course ! " The Times suggested that the 
names of his creditors should be cut on the 

It is not generally known that there 
is a staircase inside the Duke of York's 
Column, as there is inside the Monument/ 
but the Office of Works has for years declined 
to allow the public to climb this staircase 
and to survey London beside the German 
Prince who swore dreadfully in Flanders and 
did precious little else. 

Now, the Duke of York's Column occupies 
what is, on the whole, the finest site in London. 
Everyone agrees that it is right and proper 
that London should have many memorials 
of the Great War that "has just finished, and 
that it should contain permanent tributes to 
the men to whom we owe victory over the 
Germans. But times are hard, taxes are 
high, and labour and material are dear. It 
would, therefore, seem eminently wise and 
desirable to use the Duke of York's Column 
either for a figure of Victory or one of the 
heroes of the Great War, and not a stupid, 
drunken German Prince. Pull Frederick 
Augustus down and erect in his place a statue 
of Haig or Beatty, or, perhaps best of all, 

A representative of The Strand Magazine 
submitted this idea to various well-known 
sculptors, and his report is as follows: — 

Mr. F. W. Pomeroy, A.R.A., was the 
first to favour me with his views : — 

" jEsthetically it is a mistake to place a 
portrait statue on the top of a column two 
hundred feet high." (In point of fact the 
elevation of the Duke of York's Column is 
less than one hundred and thirty feet.) 

" The ancient Greeks never *pl ace d their 
sculpture in positions where they could not 
be properly seen. A portrait statue is an 
intimate representation of some particular 
person and should be so shown as to come 
within the ordinary, vision of the spectator. 
> " The statue of the Duke of York is not a 
thing of beauty and has now no interest to 
anyone ; personally I should be glad to see 
it removed, and with it, the column, which 
might be re-erected on some prominent 
elevation such as Primrose Hill, where it 
would, if surmounted by a statue (gilded) 
symbolizing ' Victory/ form an admirable 
memorial for our soldiers who fell in the 
Great War. 

" The present site would then be available 
for a fine modern work of art, such as the 
National Memorial to our beloved King 
Edward VII., which is, at present, without 
a resting place. 

* 4 It is no wonder that the average citizen 
regards with distrust any suggestion to 
erect a new public memorial when they are 
only able to see the awful productions of 
the last century in the squares and public 

" Our sculptors are judged by these 
works, but we have now a number of ac- 
complished and well-trained sculptors who 
could create works equal to any foreign 
' artists, if they were given the opportunity. 

'* Therefore I would hail with pleasure the 
prospect of the speedy removal of many oi 
the bronze figures which disfigure our public 
streets, and in their places I should like to 
see specimens of modern British sculpture." 

Mr. F. Derwent Wood, A.R.A., with 
whom I discussed the matter in his studio at 
Glebe Place, Chelsea, heartily agreed with 
the proposed deposition of the Duke of 

11 But I do not like the idea," he added, 
" of replacing it by another statue, which 
viewed from the street would be almost 
invisible and quite ineffective. There is, of 
course, the Nelson precedent, but in his case 
the one-armed figure is fairly distinctive. 
In my opinion the present statue should be 
replaced by a big symbolical figure, com- 
memorating' th?( wair in some way, which 
would he silhouetted against the sky. The 



colour would be immaterial, 
as under the imluence of the 
London climate any colour 
would become flat. Such a 
figure as I have in view can be 
seen on the top of the Cathedra! 
at Toledo and various other 

*' If I remember rightly, there 
are panels around the column, 
and these might be filled in 
with decorative designs, or you 
might have a group of statuary 
at the base consisting, perhaps, 
of the Commanders-in-Chief of 
the principal Allied Armies, 

" Let me add that, as em- 
bodying London's commemora- 
tion of our victory in the Great 
War, I do not think your pro- 
posal would be adequate in 
itself. 1 should like to see a 
Memorial Colonnade erected 
on the terrace — the Spaniards 
Road, I think it is called — on 
Hampstead Heath, It is a 
magnificent site for such a 
piece of sculptural architec- 

Mr, W. R, Colto\% A.R.A., 
when 1 called upon him at his 
Kensington studio, treated the 
subject in a somewhat flippant 
and cynical manner. 

" Is it safe to revise the 
verdicts of history in the way 
you suggest ? People of to-day 
don't think much of the Duke 
of York, perhaps, but at the 
time the statue was erected 
something must have been 
thought of him or it would not 
have been put up. The column 
as it stands has historic signifi- 
cance, it is a memorial of the 
state of feeling at a particular 
period; nothing can alter that 
fact. You suggest that Foch 
should replace the Duke of 
York, but what guarantee have 
rp ou that another generation 


might not want to pull down 
Foch ? 

" Where is the thing to end 
if you once begin tampering 
with these memorials of the 
past ? Are you going to im- 
pose a censorship on all our 
London statues ? There are 
others to which the same ob- 
jection might be taken as you 
have taken to the Duke of 
York's statue. 

'* Xo ; in my opinion statues 
once erected are for a) I time, 
and it is unsafe in regard to 
■them to act on the feelings uf 
the moment. For the rest, I 
consider the Duke of York s 
column to be a fine piece of 
work and a suitable adornment 
of the site it occupies." 

Similar ideas were expressed 
by Sir Thomas Brock, R.A., 
although in his case the con* 
versa t ion was prefaced by the 
plea that he was too unwell — 
lie was about to undergo a 
serious operation — to give 
much attention to the matter, 
nnd was too old— he is seventy- 
one — to engage in public con- 

'* I should prefer," Sir Thomas 
said, " to leave the matter in 
the hands of younger men. 
Generally speaking, however, 
I am not in favour of pulling 
down things, and 1 do not 
think *a new statue should 
ever be put upon an old 
pedestal. We must have in 
London a much finer memorial 
of Victory and Peace than your 
proposal could possibly provide 
— some strand and compre- 
hensive scheme which would 
express as adequately as may 
1^ possible our feelings and 
emotions with respect to the 
heroes who died for us in the 

by Google 

Original from 



Ft was worth the journey to Wimbledon 
HilU where Mr. Alfred Drury, R.A +j has 
carried en his profession for the past six 
years, to see the enthusiasm with which he 
welcomed the project. 

" 1 think you have hit upon a first-rate 
idea/' he exclaimed, at the outset of our 
conversation. " The column certainly ought 
to be utilized for a better purpose than it 
serves at present, and what better purpose 
can there be than that which The 
Strand Magazine suggests ? 

" The column, in my judgment, 
is of distinct artistic merit , and to 
replace it by anything as good 
at the present time would cost an 
enormous amount of money. After 
consideration, I have come to the 
conclusion that the best thing 
would be to replace the Duke of 
York's effigy by an ideal figure 
symbolizing ' Peace p and * Vic- 
tory/ and resting upon a globe. 
There, this will show you what 1 
have in mind." 

And Mr. Drury pointed to a 
little statuette in bronze on his 
mantelpiece, It was a miniature 
model of the figure of Victory 
which decorates Gilbert's statue 
of Queen Victoria at Win- 

11 The figure should be in 
gilt/' continued the sculptor. 
"If it were of the proper 
material it would stand the 
London climate very well; and 
in any case there are steps to 
the top of the column, and the 
renewal of the gilt from time 
to time would be a compara- 
tively simple and inexpensive 
matter, very different from what 
it would be if scaffolding had 
to be erected," 

1 asked Mr. Drury if he could 
embody his ideas of an appro- 
priate figure in a rough pencil 

14 No/' he replied. " I think 
that w-njid tv? a mistake. First 
get the principle of your proposal accepted 
by the public before we go into details. 
Otherwise there will be all kinds of criticism, 
and the proposal itself may be prejudiced by 
opposition to the details, 

' In addition to the symbolical figure on 
the top, the sides of the column might be 
decorated in lias-relief. There is an excellent 
example of this in the City ' Monument ' of 
the Great Fire. You might also have a 
group of statuary at the base, if, as I believe, 
there is enough space for such a purpose. 
This statuary might embody representations 


of the countries forming the Great Alliance 
in the war, or possibly symbolize the League 
of Nations, if the ideal of the League is 

Sir George Frampton, R-A*, was reluc- 
tant to discuss the subject, because he con- 
sidered that it was one for architects rather 
than sculptors. " The question of the 
structure of the column, at least/ J he re- 
marked, + is an architect's question : sculp- 
tors would be concerned only with its 

' I sympathize entirely with your views/' 
Sir George neverthe- 
less admitted \ only 
I don't want to see a 
foreigner there, — not 
Nor am I altogether 
in favour of putting statues on 
the tops of columns. The Romans 
i In I. il">. true; but I think it was 
a mistake. How much better the 
Nelson column would look if it had 
the model of his ship on The top, 
instead of the figure. I like the 
suggestion of a gilt figure of Vic- 
tory, but I am afraid the gilt, 
owing to the London climate, 
would want constant renewal ; 
and if it was done in bronze, 
the bronze, for the same reason, 
would soon become black." 

Sir \\\ Goscompe John, R.A., 
gave the following brief but ter*e 
expression of his views : — 

" Apart from the likelihood 
of such a change as you sug- 
gest being made, i think por- 
trait statues are never happy 
or desirable on the top of high 
columns. A great winged figure 
of Victory in the place of the 
Duke of York would give us 
all a new joy and be a delight 
to look at — a golden Victory 
that would catch the sunshine 
like the Cross on the dome of 
St. Paul's/' 

Having regard to the important contribu- 
tions he has made of recent years to the 
Royal Academy, and his residence in this 
country, I thought it not improper to 
approach Mr, Walter Winans, the Ameri- 
i rin sculptor, for his opinion on the matter. 
His reply was as follows : — 

"As a citizen of the United States of 
America I am not permitted to meddle 
in the politics of any other country. 
Personally, I am utterly indifferent as 
to who Qflfite a I ffo n lightning conduct" >r 



sculptor's point of view, I should prefer 
nobody was. 

" From a utilitarian point of view it would 
be best if there were a socket put on top 
into which the statue of whatever man 
happened to be popular at the moment 
could be fitted. 

" If it is decided to remove the column, I 
should suggest that the steps also be removed, 
the ground graded, and a road made joining 
the bottom of Regent Street with the 
Processional Road which runs from Bucking- 
ham Palace to Trafalgar Square. This would 
relieve the traffic in Piccadilly, etc.' 

Mr. John Tweed, the sculptor of Give, 
Rhodes, Chamberlain, and other Imperial 
leaders, agreed that it was desirable to fin, I 
another use for so noble a site as that oc- 
cupied by the Duke of York's Column. 

But he did not approve of the proposal to 
replace the statue by that of another human 
figure, this for much the same reasons as 
had been given by other sculptors. In fact, 
he was rather in favour of removing the 
column altogether and using the site for 
quite a new memorial. 

" It might commemorate," he said, " the 
part taken by the Empire as a whole in the 
War, something of the kind of which this 
is a rough sketch." 

" This," to which Mr. Tweed directed my 
attention in his Fulham Road studio, was a 
rough sketch in clay of his design for a War 
Memorial in South Africa. It was a rounded 
column, the summit of which, with a figure 
of Victory, was reached by a circular stair- 
way. At the entrance to this statuary 
stood a figure sounding the call to -arms, 

whilst in a series of recesses were sculptured 
panels representing the various Dominions 

" Such a memorial," he admitted, " would, 
of course, be somewhat costly — but nothing 
cheap can be worthy of the occasion — 
and it should not be one man's work. I 
think some of the younger men should 
have a chance, each contributing his part 
in accordance, of course, with the general 

Failing such a scheme, Mr. Tweed thought 
that possibly the effigy of the Duke of Y6rk 
might be replaced by a piece of statuary in 
honour of France as our Great Ally; "The 
Gallic Cock, or, better still, the figure of an 
eagle in heroic size and cast in bronze, so as 
to be of visible significance to the man in the 

Summing up the discussion, it will be 
seen that the weight of opinion on the part 
of these distinguished sculptors favours the 
deposition of the Duke of York from the 
site he has too long usurped, but is hostile 
to the idea of replacing his effigy by another 
portrait statue. It recognizes the suitability 
of the site and the utility of the column for 
the erection of some piece of ideal sculpture 
which would symbolize the Victory and 
Peace resulting from the Great War. Sup- 
plementing The Strand Magazine's pro- 
posal, one or two eminent sculptors also 
suggest the further use of the site for 
the erection either of portrait statues of 
the Commanders who achieved the victory, 
or of symbolical statuary in honour of the 
nations which were united together in the 

Result of the Second Sense of Humour Competition. 

The order of Merit of the ten Caricatures, as shown by the voting, is as follows : — 

1st. George Graves, by H. M+ Bateman. 

2nd. Melbourne Inman, by Tom Webster, 

3rd. A. J. Balfour, by lorn Titt. 

4th. Paderewski, by Max Beerbohm. 

5th. W. Redmond, by E. T. Need. 

6th. Sir Henry Irving, by Alick P. F. Ritchie. 

7th. Tolstoy, by Olaf Gu bransson. 

8th. Sarah Bernhardt, by Ernest Forbes. 

9th. I. Zangwill, by Stone, 

10th. Sir Edward Carson, by Frank Richardson. 

Only one list was received placing all the Caricatures in this order. This was sent in by 

Mr. M. ROBINSON, 43, New Walk, Leicester, 

to whom is awarded 

Two competitors sent in lists with only two mistakes, and they therefore divide the Second Prize of £2$. 
Their names and addresses are : — 

Mr. J. E. Bendall, Villa Cross, Birmingham. 

Mr. M. Borton Brown, 79, Clarence Gate Gardens, N.W.i. 

Frizes of £$ each are awarded to 

Mr. W. Roberts, 497, Cambridge Road, London, N.E. 
Mr. R. Taylor, 226, Bishopsgate, E.C.2. 

for lists with three mistakes. 
The following nine competitors, with lists containing four mistakes, each receive a prize of £t 13s. 41I. : Mr. H. C Baylby, 
Plaxlole, Castletown, Isle of Min; Miss Marie Olga Bonavia, 331, Sda San Paola, Valetta, Malta ; Mr. S. A. F. 
Kgbkton. Wellrsley House, Wellington College, Berks: Miss Georgik Esmond, Apollo Theatre, Shaftesbury 
Avenue, W.i ; Mr. Denis Finn. 10, Abercorn Road, Londonderry, Ireland: Mr. R. C. Harris, Stafford House, 
Bnring Road, Grove Road, S.K.12: Mr. W. D. Tkesiddkr, 17, Hartircgton Street, Dcrty ; Mr. P. F. Millard, 
9t. Aldan's Vicarage, Carlisle, Cumberland; Mr. Frank H. Whitt-iland, r6, Gorier, £oad, R?,yne«s Park, S.W.19. 




AS it twelve 
years ago, or 
fifteen? Roger 
Brig ham could 
not distinctly re- 
member. The spot, 
however, was not 
much changed, save that it had 
shrunk a little. There was the 




same small railway station > even the 
same conveyances to take guests to 
the hotels. To- be sure, one or two 
of the larger inns now had motor- 
buses, but Roger climbed into an 
ancient carriage by choice. He had 
come back to Sand bourne after twelve 
years (or was it fifteen ?) not to ride 
in new motor- buses, but to find, if he 
could, some of those old-time moods 
and fancies which had made the place 
so sweet. He was on a sentimental 
pilgrimage in search of his youth, 
That is a way of stating that Roger 
Brig ham was thirty- five, and conveys 
at least a hint that he was single. 
Some time between thirty- five and 
forty a man makes up his mind finally 
that the quest is vain, and becomes 
reconciled to growing old. Before thirty- 
five a man doesn't know he has lost his youth. 
But midway in the thirties he suddenly dis- 
covers the loss with an aching pang of regret , 
and if he is foot and fancy free he sets out on 
a foolish, wistful, sentimental quest, 

Roger turned to Sand bourne because it 
was holiday time, and because there , in 
glorious seasons in the past— the past so 
infinitely remote ! — he had walked beside the 
summer sea with soft hands in his, while 
fairies danced on the moon-track. There he 
had first read Omar and Keats ; he had swum 
straight out to sea, or paddled a canoe over 
the long heave of the sea-billows ; he had 
played tennis and danced — in short, he had 
been gloriously voting ! He wanted to be 
gloriously young again. 

It was the same strip of shining yellow 
beach. The hotel looked familiar too. It 
had been altered and enlarged, under a new 
management, but the office remained as of 
old, with tennis-rackets, golf- bags, hammocks, 
and crochet- baskets left about in confusion. 


" I used to come here 
twelve or fifteen years ago," 
Roger told the clerk, who did 
not seem impressed, 
After he had got into his 
flannels, Roger went out to the 
tennis court and watched a mixed- 
doubles match. He had forgotten 
the court was so poor and bumpy. 
The tennis, too, was not impressive, 
not half so good as his own, he 
thought* He strolled to the beach, 
wondering if he had time for a swim 
before supper, and deciding not 
Presently, as he turned to go back 
to the hotel, he saw a distant figure 
moving from the rocky point towards 
a cottage. There was something 
oddly familiar about the figure ; it 
struck a chord in his memory with 
a sudden throb. Then he knew : it 
was like Mabel At wood ! It was 
so like her that he was tempted to 
run, to shout. Yet he could- hardly 
reach her in time, and his voice 
wouldn't carry over the roar of the 
surf. Besides, he told himself, it was 
probably a trick of recollection. Scenes 
revisited put such fancied resemblances into 
the mind. But he went back to the hotel 
thinking of Mabel At wood, of those far-off, 
forgotten, rosy hours when they had wan- 
dered together by this bit of sea ; and he 
asked the clerk if any person of her name 
had a cottage by the point. The clerk said 
no, he knew of no such person in the four 
years he had been at Sandbourne, Roger 
felt his glow of hope fade out. He realized 
that he had never really forgotten Mabel, 
that she had been an important, a lovely part 
of this lost youth he was seeking. 

That night he went to the weekly hop at 
the Casino, He called it a hop, though the 
young folks didn't any more. With the 
easy familiarity of such a resort, he had 
picked up acquaintance with several people 
at the supper table, and he went with 
them, devoting himself especially to a 
jolly young girl of twenty or so who 
promised him the first dance when he said 
he was an old man without a chance of a 

par fffffi r ERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



" Everybody dances nowadays," she told 
him, "It isn't only the young people." 

This was discouraging ; he hadn't ex- 
pected to be taken so literally. He endea- 
voured to become flirtatious in order to 
prove his youth, but only succeeded in feel- 
ing rather silly, and suspecting that the girl 
thought him so too. 

But she was true to her promise, and 
danced the first dance with him, after intro- 
ducing him to a perfect bevy of pink and 
white and blue and yellow fluffin esses. 
When the dance was over, he saw that his 
companion longed to join her crowd on the 
veranda , and he let her go. He watched the 
laughing girls and boys 
filing out to the moonlit 
porch and felt very aged. 
He was thirty-five, and 
only a man of thirty-five 
can know how old he felt ! 
A man of fifty, even of 
forty, has mercifully for- 
gotten. He had no heart 
to hunt a partner for the 
next dance, and was con- 
templating a lonely walk hy 
the sea, with his memories, 
when across the room he 
saw again that familiar 
figure. She was standing in 
the door, half In profile, and 
he could not be mistaken at 
this distance. It was Mabel 
At wood ! The clerk was 
wrong. * Perhaps she was 
visiting. He sprang up and 
hurried across the slippery 
floor, speaking her name. 
The woman — the girl, for 
she was a girl to him— 
turned quickly and met his 
eager eyes. At first there 
was no recognition on her 
face, but he took off his 
glasses with a smile, and 
suddenly two bright spots 
came in her cheeks — how 
well he remembered that 
trick of her clear skin ! — and 
she put out her hand with 
a little cry of welcome, 

" Roger — you ! '* she said* 

They both spoke the in- 
evitable " What are you 
doing here? " at once, and 
each waited for the other's 
answer. Meanwhile Roger 
forgot to let go of her 
hand, and she had to draw 
it from his eager grasp. 

" I'm here with my aunt ; 
we have a little cottage by 
the pouit," she said. " Wo 

— we've not been here for a dozen years. 
It isn't much changed, is it ? JJ 

" Not now — now that I've found you ! " 
Roger exclaimed- u Before that ! I've not 
been here for more than a dozen years, 
either, I think — anyhow, since the last sum- 
mer I saw yon. I came back looking for 

" Looking for something ? " 

41 Yes — my youth. I woke up one day 
this spring and found I wasn't young any 
more. Somebody had taken my youth from 
me in the night, I've come' back here to 
find it. Maybe you can help ! " 

The girl, the woman {which was she ? 
Roger looked at her and could not tell, seeing 
her strangely as she used to be, and yet more 
realistically seeing the signs of maturity* 
which one second he hated and the next 
admired), spoke with a little laugh. 

1 I am not the one," she answered. 


by Google 

Original from 



€ * Those little pink puff-balls on the veranda 
are the age we were when — when — well, 
they are young. Go and dance with 

" I've tried/' said Roger, *' I can't make 
out whether they are patronizing me or pity- 
ing me — it's one or the other, and I don't 
like it. Alas ! I can't speak their peculiar 
language any more/' 

* You have changed," she smiled. 

41 That is a little unkind/' 

M Is it ? I thought it would flatter you," 
she said, and shot him a sidelong glance. 

Roger coloured and the girl smiled again. 
** Let's dance/* she said, " Tm old enough 
to ask you now/' 

The young folks were streaming back to 
the strains of a one-step, and the man and 
the woman joined the bobbing throng. A 
thousand memories awoke in him as his hand 
clasped her waist, and he wanted to draw 
"her close to him, as he used to do in the 

slower and more languid waltzes of their 
early days, 

' Your hair smells just the same/' he 
whispered in her eai\ 

She lifted her face to his for a second, in- 
quiringly, and then averted it from his glance. 

" You don't really remember/' she whis- 
pered back. 

'* Yes, I do ! We waltzed in those days to 
beautiful music— not this mechanical rag- 
time. We belong almost to the age of the 
* Blue Danube/ you and I, Your knee used 
to touch mine, and it thrilled me >J 

" Roger, don't ! You mustn't ! " 

" But it's true ; you know it's true/ 1 

*' Is it ? I don't remember/ 1 she said. 
* f But I remember the music was better than 
this, We used to seem to float/' 

41 To float— yes ! 

She laughed, " 
said* " Let's stop 

Perhaps we are heavier 
I'm afraid we are/* she 



by Google 

She slipped from his arm, 
and they went out on the 
veranda* The moonlit beach lay below 
them, a few couples strolling along 
it, Beyond, the rocky point thrust its 
rlark finger out into the white curl of 

H Let's go out on the rocks/' he said, 
rly. " It's better than dancing. Get 
your cloak/' 

She appeared to debate within herself for 
an instant, and then nodded. They crossed 
the beach and climbed up on the rocks- It 
was curious to Roger how every contour of 
them came back to him, after more than a 
decade. Without the slightest hesitancy his 
feet took him by the best path directly out 




to the farthest point. The spot was 
deserted ; everyone was at the dance. 

'* You haven't forgotten how to get here/' 
she said, with a shade of nervousness in her 

" I've forgotten nothing," he answered, 
curling up beside her. 

• " Nothing ? " She shot him a sidelong 

" Not a thing/' said he. "It was here, 
on these rocks, with you, that I used to ache 
with the beauty of the moon-track, and 
when a little cloud dusked the moon, the 
ocean and all the night seemed to hold its 
breath. Oh, Mabel, why can't I ache any 
more in the face of loveliness ? " 

He looked up at her seriously, and she 
looked at him, in silence. She seemed to be 
studying his face. 

" Something goes with youth, doesn't it ? " 
she answered, presently. 4 * But something 
comes, too." 

" What ? " 

11 You'll find out when you are as old as 
I," she said. 

Roger laughed. " You are two years 
younger than I," said he. " Besides, I don't 
believe you ever ached. How well I remem- 
ber once apostrophizing a cloud that crossed 
the moon as ' a veil that shrouded the golden 
queen of the skies/ and you said it looked 
more like a piece of cotton- wool. I don't 
believe you really had any poetry in your 
soul, or you couldn't have said that." 

" Perhaps I wanted to douse your exalta- 
tion," she smiled. 

" But why should you want to do that ? 

" Perhaps I was afraid of it," said she. 

" Afraid of it ? I don't understand." 

The girl only laughed softly. 

" I remember once quoting Keats's * Bright 
Star/ which I had just learned by heart," he 
went on, " and you doused me again. Girls 
have no sense of poetry beyond the personal." 

" Are you sure that wasn't personal ? " 
she asked, her voice low. 

" It was — and it wasn't," Roger answered, 
reflectively. " It was speaking for me my 
new-found sense of magic loveliness and 
romance. I was in love with life, in love 
with love ; I was drunk with the moonlight 
and all those vague, sweet things of youth. 
I don't say I wasn't in love with you, too." 

" Please don't say you weren't," she an- 
swered, half laughingly, half with a wistful 
3oberness. " You talk, Roger, as if your 
youth, your power of feeling, were really 
gone. That can't be true. The world has 
done nothing like that to you, I'm sure." 

41 But it is true," said he. " It's just one 
of those inevitable things we have to face." 

" Nonsense ! " she replied. " It isn't true 
for me, at anv rate. I am older than you, 
and younger. Perhaps we've changed places 

now. It is I who am in love with romance 
and loveliness and moonlight." 

" And love ? " he queried, looking at her. 

" Every woman is in love with love to the 
end of her life." , 

A fleecy cloud dusked the moon as they 
spoke, and the moon-track, the restless sea, 
even the ghostly choirs of the surf, seemed 
to hold their breath. 

Roger broke the silence. 

*' What is that cloud like to you now ? " 
he said. 

" Like a wistful thought of reality dusking 
a dream," she answered. 

The man shot a quick look at her, sur- 
prised and delighted. 

" Beautiful ! ' he whispered. " See, it has 

" Yes, it has gone," she said, in the same 
low tone. 

He studied her face in profile as she looked 
out over the golden pathway. Her eyes 
were deeper now than they used to be, her 
chin firmer. Yes, he had to admit the hint 
of a second chin, too. But her nose was 
tipped in the same provocative way, and her 
full, sweet lips parted a little in repose. The 
lips of his first love I Yes, she was really 
his first love, for she had come to him as a 
part of the opening world of moonlight and 
romance. He wondered suddenly if he had 
ever really loved again. He had thought 
so, times enough ; but never again had the 
ache of loveliness and the longing to hold 
the beloved close come at the same time, in 
the moonlight glamour of romance. Those 
hps, he had kissed them once — how sweet 
they were ! 

The woman felt his eyes upon her, and 
slowly turned her face, meeting his sudden, 
hungry glance. She turned quickly away 

" Look," she said, " the gold fairies are 
dancing on the floor of the ocean." 

" TJie fairies are dancing on the floor of 
my heart," he whispered. " They have 
found my youth, and brought him out, and 
he is footing it gaily. He is a nice chap, too. 
I like him very much, for he is a poet. Oh, 
moonlight and starlight and gold-gleaming 
waters, how you cry to the heart of youth 
and make him immortal ! " 

" I knew it ! " she said. 

Roger drew closer to her and took her hand 
in one of his. She shot him a quick, question- 
ing glance, endeavouring to withdraw her 
fingers, but he held them firm, and with a 
little laugh she ceased to resist. 

" Your cloak used always to be slipping 
off," he whispered in her ear, " and had to 
be put on again — like this." 

With his other hand he tucked it about 
her, and she felt his arm fold around her 
waist and draw Itiei close to his side. 




She did not laugh now. She looked into 
his eyes a second with a deep inquiry, and 
then they both gazed out to sea, over the 
golden pathway where the fairies danced, to 
the mystery of the moon. 

" I wonder," he said. " I wonder " 

" Yes ? " 

" 1 wonder what would have happened if, 
long ago, you and I had never parted. We 
were children by a summer sea. We went 
our separate ways into the world. I won- 
der " 

" We shouldn't be sitting here, like this," 
she smiled. 

" Oh, yes, we should — I'm sure we 
should ! " he cried. " Just like this, after 
fifteen years. Fifteen years ! They seem 
suddenly empty to me now." 

His arm tightened about her. He looked 
into her face hungrily, and leaned to kiss her 

But she put up her free hand quickly and 
gently withheld him. 

" No, dear Roger," she said, " not that ! " 

"Yes, please! I'm — I'm aching again! 
Something has been restored to me. I think 
it is love for you. Why not ? Please ! " 
1 She shook her head. " It — it is too 
serious," she answered. " The kisses you give 
at eighteen, you don't give at thirty-three." 

" You mean you don't want to give ? " 

She looked at him with an odd, hurt ex- 
pression, which thrilled him — thrilled and 

" Roger, you were my first love," she said, 

" And you were mine," he answered. 
*' They say no woman ever forgets her first 
love, and no woman ever marries him. I 
believe it's the same with a man. But I 
don't see why. Mabel " 

He was carried out of himself. A rosy 
vision suddenly opened before him. His 
voice and his arm trembled. 

" Tell me," he cried. " They said at the 
hotel there was no one here of your name. 
You haven't changed your name, have you ? " 

" It is Bolton now," she answered. " You 
silly boy, if you ever noticed things you 
would have seen." 

She put out her hand in the moonlight 
and showed the ring. 

" It — it never occurred to me," he stam- 
mered. " I — I beg your pardon." 

He withdrew his arm from her waist. 

But she put it back with a low laugh. " J 
knew it all the time," she said. " If I per- 
mitted it before, I must permit it now." 

" But your " 

" He is far away," she replied. 

" Still, it — it's not the same. I wouldn't 
feel— I'd be a " 

Again he tried to draw his arm away, and 
this time she let him. 

" My husband has been dead eight years," 
she said. " We were married only two." 

Roger took her hand again and spread his 
other palm over it. " Poor girl ! " said he. 
"I'm so sorry. There is something in your 
eyes — I wondered what it was. Will you 
forgive me for running on about our child- 
hood fancies ? " 

" I couldn't have forgiven you if you 
hadn't," she answered him. "I'm getting 
old now, too, Roger, and I really came here 
this summer because old memories called me. 
It has been very sweet to live in them again, 
if only for an hour." 

" Need it be only for*an hour ? " he said, 
eagerly. " The whole world has changed for 
me in this hour. I have found the dreams 
of my youth again, and they are all tangled 
up with you — your hair, your eyes, your lips. 
I think, dearest, without knowing it, I have 
been wanting you for fifteen years. Could 
you forget what has happened enough to 
come back with me into the long ago, and 
start afresh ? " 

" I could forget it, perhaps, better than 
you could," she answered. 

" I don't understand." 

" Don't you ? Then you are a dear boy," 
said she, letting her cheek lightly brush his 
shoulder. " Listen, Roger, to something I 
am going to tell you. I was married for two 
years. You have never been married, have 
you ? You cannot know what that means. 
It means such an intimacy as only beautiful, 
romantic love can justify. I thought I loved 
the man I married, but I — I didn't ; not that 
way. I wonder sometimes how many wives 
do. Oh, we plunge into strange waters, we 
women, without knowing the depths ! If 
they don't love that way, something is taken 
from them, something that corresponds to 
what you call your youth, perhaps, or your 
power to ache. A bloom is rubbed off the 
world. I can't put it into words." 

She was silent, and Roger stroked her hand. 

" Tell me," he said, " for we must hide 
nothing now, whether I— whether we — if our 
first love long ago was the kind that carries 
the bloom into the intimacy of marriage." 

She nodded her head. " Of course," she 
said. " We kissed as naturally as the wind 
blew, and our love was all in a golden light 
— wasn't it ? Oh, say that it was, Roger ! 
Say there is something like that in the 
world — something real /" 

"" Yes, dearest," he whispered. " A thou- 
sand times, yes ! " 

She suddenly put her hands about his head 
and held his face buried on her bosom, while 
he felt rather than heard her sob. 

When he felt her clasp relax, he slipped to 
his knees beside her. 

" Dearest," he said, " I never felt so weak 
and unworthy and humble in mv life, and 






yet I never felt so proud and so 
gloriously happy, with u happi- 
ness that is clutching my heart like 
a hand. The world — no, not the 
world — / owe yon something. It 
isn't too late ! Let us pick up our 
dear dead dreams together, let u^ pul 
back all the gold upon them ; Let us 
never part again, Oh t all these years— 
these empty years — and you out there, 
my one true mate ! " 

" You — you don't mint! the — the other i 
You'll see me as I used to be ? " she said, 

" I'll see you as you used to be, and as you 
are, you lovely creature/' he laughed, spring- 
ing up and catching her into his arms. " Oh, 
if I hadn't found you ! " 

" And you've not even asked if I have any 

" I hope you have. I love children, arid 
you'd have been so lonely all these years 
without them.'* 

" I have been lonely, " she answered, " I 
want children. I want a girl, so she too may 
sit on a rock by the summer sea, and be 
dreadfully, wonderfully, thrilling] y afraid ! " 

" And I want a son to sit on a rock by the 
summer sea and look down the moon-track 

by Google 

into the golden land of Heart's Desire," saic 
Roger, " Oh, tell me it isn't too late ! " 

He strained her closer to his side, and 
w silence they looked up the golden 
pathway to the moon, their hearts too full 
for sjiet-i li 

A long time later they rose, and moved 
back to the beach. The lights were still 
ablaze in the Casino, and as they stepped 
down on the sand the sounds of a waltz 
struck up. 

"It must be the final dance/' she said. 
" listen do you hear what it is ? 

" The beautiful' Blue Danube'!" cried 

Roger. " Dear old anachronism — how do 

you suppose they happened to dig up that?" 

M It's in our honour." she laughed. 

M Come, dear — we must dance it." 

"We'll float!" he cried. "And your 
knee shall touch mine, and we shall thrill to 
our finger-tips ! You are eighteen, and I 
am twenty, and the wide world is before us ! 

He seized her in his arms, and for the first 
time kissed her lips, his eyes closed in a 
yearning tenderness of memory and hope. 
Then they ran together up the steps and 
moved out upon the floor. 

Yet to the laughing boys and girls around 
them they were two rather elderly people 
who danced in a peculiar, old-fashiotud 

Original from 


The ^ 

U ncharte 



SYCHIC science, though still 
in its infancy, has already 
reached a point where we can 
dissect many of those occur- 
rences which were regarded 
as inexplicable in past ages, 
and can classify and even 
explain them — so far as any ultimate expla- 
nation of anything is possible. So long as 
gravity, electricity, magnetism, and so many 
other great natural forces are inexplicable 
one must not ask too much of the youngest 
— though it is also the oldest — of the sciences. 
But the progress made has been surprising 
—the more surprising since it has been done 
by a limited circle of students whose results 
have hardly reached the world at large, and 
have been greeted rather with incredulous 
contempt than with the appreciation which, 
they deserved. So far have we advanced 
that of the eighty or ninety cases carefully 
detailed in Dale Owen's "Footfalls," pub- 
lished in 1859, we find now, sixty years later, 
that there is hardly one winch cannot 
be classified and understood. It would be 
interesting, therefore, to survey some of those 
cases which stand on record in our law 
courts, and have been variously explained 
in the past as being either extraordinary 
coincidences or as interpositions of Provi- 
dence. The latter phrase may well represent 
a fact, but people must learn that no such 
thing has ever been known as an interposition 
of Providence save through natural law, and 
that when it lias seemed inexplicable and 
miraculous it is only because the law has not 
yet been understood. All miracles come 

Vol. ]is.— 5. Copyright, tgig t 


under exact law, but the law, like all natural 
laws j is itself divine and miraculous. 

We will endeavour in recounting these 
cases, which can only be done in the briefest 
fashion, to work from the simpler to the more 
complex — from that which may have de- 
pended upon the natural but undefined 
powers of the subconscious self, through aU 
th? range of clairvoyance and telepathy, until 
we come to that which is beyond all question 
influenced by the spirit of the dead* There 
is one case, that of Owen Parfitt, of Shepton 
Mallet, in Somersetshire, which may form a 
starting-point, since it is really impossible 
to say whether it was psychic or not ; but if 
it were not, it forms one of the most piquant 
mysteries which ever came before the British 

This old fellow was a seaman, who lived 
in the piratical days of the eighteenth cen- 
tury and finally settled down, upon what 
were usually considered to have been ill* 
gotten gains, about the year 1760, occupying 
a comfortable cottage on the edge of the little 
Somerset town. His sister kept house for 
him, but she was herself too infirm to look 
after the rheumatic old mariner, so a neigh- 
bour named Susanna Snook used to come in 
by the day and help to care for him. It was 
observed that Parfitt went periodically to 
Bristol, and that he returned with money, 
but how he gained it was his secret. He 
appears to have been a secretive and wicked 
old creature, with many strange tales of wild 
doings, some of which related to the West 
Coast of Africa, and possibly to the slave 

»^i>W8Flfeffl®F tJ ' lMr — " 



upon him. He could no longer get farther 
than his garden, and seldom left the great 
chair in which he was placed every day by 
the ministering Susanna Snook, just outside 
the porch of the cottage. 

Then one summer morning, June 6th, 
1768, an extraordinary thing happened. He 
had been deposited as usual, with a shawl 
round his shoulders, while the hard-working 
Susanna darted back to her own cottage 
near by. She was away for half an hour. 
When she returned she found, to her amaze- 
ment, that the old seaman had disappeared. 
His sister was wringing her hands in great 
bewilderment over the shawl, which still 
remained upon the chair, but as to what 
became of the old reprobate nothing has 
ever been learned from that day to this. It 
should be emphasized that he was practically 
unable to walk and was far too heavy to be 
easily carried. . 

The alarm was at once given, and as the 
hay-making was in full swing the countiy- 
side was full of workers, who were ready to 
declare that even if he could have walked he 
could not have escaped their observation 
upon the roads. A search was started, but 
it was interrupted by a sudden and severe 
storm, with thunder and heavy rain. In 
spite of the weather, there was a general 
alarm for twenty-four hours, which failed to 
discover the least trace of the missing man. 
His unsavoury character, some reminiscences 
of the Obi men and Voodoo cult of Africa, 
and the sudden thunderstorm, all combined 
to assure the people of Somerset that the 
devil had laid his claws upon the old seaman ; 
nor has any natural explanation since those 
days set the matter in a more normal light. 
There were hopes once that this had been 
attained when, in the year 181 3, some 
human bones were discovered in the garden 
of a certain Widow Lockyer, who lived within 
two hundred yards of the old man's cottage. 
Susanna Snook was still alive, and gave 
evidence at the inquiry, but just as it began 
to appear that perhaps the old man had been 
coaxed away and murdered, a surgeon from 
Bristol shut down the whole matter by a 
positive declaration that the bones were 
those of a woman. So the affair rests till 

No psychic explanation can be- accepted 
in any case until all reasonable normal solu- 
tions "have been exhausted. It is possible 
that those visits to Bristol were connected 
with blackmail, and that some deeper villain 
in the background found means to silence 
that dangerous tongue. But how was it 
done ? It is a freakish, insoluble border- 
land case, and there we must leave it. The 
natural question arises : If you have spirit 
communications why are you unable to get 
an explanation ? The answer is that spirit 

communication is also governed by inexorable 
laws, and that you mi^ht as well expect an 
electric current along a broken wire as to get 
a communication when the conditions have 
become impossible. 

Passing on to a more definite example, let 
us take the case of the murder of Maria 
Marten, which was for a long time a favourite 
sjbject when treated at village fairs under 
the name of ' The Mystery of the Red Barn." 
Maria Marten was murdered in the year 1827 
by a young farmer named Cordcr, who should 
have married her but failed to do so, pre- 
ferring to murder her in order to conceal the 
result of their illicit union. His ingenious 
method was to announce tliat he was about 
to marry the girl, and then at the last hour 
to entice her into an empty barn, where he 
shot her dead and buried her body. He then 
disappeared from the neighbourhood, and 
gave out that he and she were secretly 
wedded and were living together at some 
unknown address. 

The murder was on May 18th, 1827, and for 
some time the plan was completely successful, 
the crime being more effectually concealed 
because Corder had left behind him instruc- 
tions that the barn should be filled up with 
stock. The rascal sent home a few letters 
purporting to be from the Isle of Wight, 
explaining that Maria and he were living 
together in great contentment. Some sus- 
picion was aroused by the fact that the post- 
marks of these letters were all from London, 
but none the less the matter might have been 
overlooked had it not been for the unusual 
action of an obscure natural law which had 
certainly never been allowed for in Mr. 
Corder's calculations. 

Mrs. Marten, the girl's mother, dreamed 
upon three nights running that her daughter 
had been murdered. This in itself might 
count for little, since it may have only 
reflected her vague fears and distrust. The 
dreams, however, were absolutely definite. 
.She saw in them the red barn, and even the 
very spot in which the remains had been 
deposited. The latter detail is of great im- 
portance, since it disposes of the idea that 
the incident could have arisen from the girl 
having told her mother that she had an 
assignation there. The dreams occurred in 
March, 1828, ten months after the crime, 
but it was the middle of April before the wife 
was able to persuade her husband to act 
upon such evidence. At last she broke 
down his very natural scruples, and per- 
mission was given to examine the barn, now 
cleared of its contents. The woman pointed 
to the spot and the man dug. A piece of 
shawl was immediately exposed, and eighteen 
inches below it the body itself was discovered, 
the horrified searcher staggering in a frenzy 
out of the ili-omened barn. The dress, the 




teeth, and some small details were enough 
to establish the identification. 

The villain was arrested in London, 
where he had become, by marriage, the 
proprietor of a girls' school , and was en- 
gaged, at the moment of capture, in ticking 
off the minutes for the correct boiling of 
the breakfast eggs, He set up an ingenious 
defence, by which he tried to prove that the 
girl had committed 
suicide, but there 
was no doubt that 
it was a cold- 
blooded crime, for 
he had taken not 
only pistols but 
also a pickaxe into 
the barn , Th is was 
the view which the 
jury took, and he 
was duly hanged, 
confessing his guilt 
in a half-hearted 
way before his 
execution* It is 
an interesting fact 
that the London 
sc hoolniistress, 
whom he had 
trapped into mar- 
riage by means of 
a specious adver- 
tisement in which 
he described him- 
self as a "private 
gentleman, whose 
disposition is not 
to be exceeded, " re* 
mained devotedly 
attached to him to 
the end t 

Now here is a 
case about which 
there is no possible 
doubt. The mur- 
der was unques- 
tionably discovered 
by means of the 
triple dream, for 
which there could 
have been no na- 
tural explanat ion . 
There remain two 

psychic explanations. The one depends 
upon telepathy or thought-reading, a pheno- 
menon which of course exists, as anyone can 
prove who experiments with it, but which 
has been stretched to most unreasonable 
lengths by those who would prefer any 
explanation to that which entails dis- 
embodied intelligence. It is, of course, 
within the bounds of remote possibility that 
the murderer thought of the girl's mother 
upon three successive nights and also upon 

the scene of the crime* thus connecting up 
the vision of one with the brain of the other. 
If any student thinks this the more probable 
explanation he is certainly entitled to accept 
it. On the other hand, there is a good deal 
of evidence that dreams, and especially 
early -in -t he-morning dreams just before the 
final waking, do at times convey information 
which seems to come from other intelligences 
than our own, Taking all the 
facts, I am of opinion that the 
spirit of the dead woman did 
actually get in touch with the 
mind of the mother, and im- 
pressed upon her the true facts 
of her unhappy fate. It is to be 
remembered, however, that even 
thdse who advance telepathy as 
an explanation of such a case are 
postulating a power which was 
utterly unknown to science until 
this generation, which was dis- 
covered and named by the 
spiritualist, Mr. F. M, Myers, 
and which itself 
represents a 
great extension 
of our psychic 
knowledge* We 
must not allow 
it, however, to 
block our way to 
the further and 
more import- 
ant advances 
which lie be- 
yond it. 

For purposes 
of comparison 
we w i 1 1 now, 
take another 
dream case 
which is per- 
fectly authentic, 
Upon February 
8th, 1840, Ed- 
mund Norway, 
the Chief Officer 
of the ship 
Orient, at that 
time near St, 
Helena, dreamed 
a dream between 
the hours of 10 p,m, and 4 a.m, in which he 
saw his brother Nevell, a Cornish gentleman, 
murdered by two men. His brother was seen 
to be mounted. One of the assailants caught 
the horse's bridle and snapped a pistol twice, 
but no report was heard* He and his com- 
rade then struck him several blows, and 
dragged him to the side of the road, where 
they left him. The road appeared to be a 
familiar one in 1 Cornwall, but the house, 

**MBB^MM»t* t riel "' — * 






out upon the left in the visual picture. The 
dream was recorded in writing at the time, 
and was told to the other officers of the 

The murder had actually occurred, and 
the assassins, two brothers named Lightfoot, 
were executed on April 13th of that year at 
Bodmin. In his confession the elder brother 
said : " I went to Bodmin on February 8th 
and met my brother . . . my brother 
knocked Mr. Norway down. He snapped a 
pistol at him twice, but it did not go off. 
He then knocked him down with the pistol. 
It was on the road to Wadebridge." (The 
road which had been seen in the dream.) 
" We left the body in the water on the left 
side of the road coming to Wadebridge. My 
brother drew the body across the road to the 
watering." The evidence made it clear that 
the murder was committed between the hours 
of ten and eleven at night. As St. Helena is, 
roughly, in the same longitude as England, 
the time of the dream might exactly cor- 
respond with that of the crime. 

These are the actual facts, and, though they 
may be explained, they cannot be explained 
away. It appears that Norway, the sailor, 
had been thinking of and writing to his 
landsman brother just before going to his 
bunk. This might possibly have made the 
subsequent vision more easy by bringing the 
two men into " rapport." There is a con- 
siderable body of evidence to prove that 
during sleep there is some part of us, call it 
the etheric body, the subconscious self, or 
what you will, which can detach itself and 
visit distant scenes, though the cut-off 
between sleeping and waking is so complete 
that it is very rarely that the memory of 
• the night's experience is carried through. 
I could quote many examples within my 
own experience of this " travelling clair- 
voyance," as it is called, but one which 
attracted a good deal of attention at the 
time, as it was fully described in the Times, 
was that of Sir Rider Haggard's dog, the 
dead body of which was found through a 
vision of the night. The same occurs in the 
stupor of high fever, and I have heard my 
little son, with a temperature of one hundred 
and four degrees, make a remark in delirium 
which showed that he saw clearly what had 
occurred in the next room. " Naughty 
Denis, breaking my soldiers ! " were the 
words, and they were absolutely correct. 
Thus it can easily be conceived that the 
consciousness of the sailor, drawn to his 
brother by recent loving thoughts, went 
swiftly to him in his sleep, and was so 
shocked to witness his murder that it was 
able to carry the record through into his 
normal memory. The case would resolve 
itself, then, into one which depended upon 
the normal but unexplored powers of the 

human organism, and not upon any inter- 
position from the spirit of the murdered 
man. Had the vision of the latter appeared 
alone, without the accompanying scene, it 
would have seemed more probable that it 
was indeed a post-mortem apparition. 

For the next illustration we will turn to 
the records of American crime. In this case, 
which is absolutely authentic, a man named 
Mortensen owed a considerable sum of 
money, three thousand eight hundred dollars, 
to a company, which was represented by the 
secretary, Mr. Hay. The transaction occurred 
in Utah in the year 1901. Mortensen beguiled 
Hay to his private house late in the evening, 
and nothing more was heard of the unfor- 
tunate man. Mortensen's story was that he 
paid the money in gold, and that Hay had 
given him 'a receipt and had started home 
with the money, carried in glass jars. When 
the police visited Mortensen 's house in the 
morning they were accompanied by Hay's 
father-in-law, an aged Mormon named Sharp, 
who said : " Where did you last see my 
son-in-law ? " 

" Here," answered Mortensen, indicating 
a spet outside his door. 

" If that is the last place you saw him," 
said Sharp, " then that is where you killed 

" How do you know he is dead ? " asked 

" I have had a vision," said Sharp, "and 
the proof is that within twenty-four hours, 
and within one mile of the spot where you 
are standing, his dead bodv will be dug up 
from the field." 

There was snow on the ground at the time, 
and n?xt morning, December 18th, a neigh- 
bour observed some bloodstains upon it not 
very far from Mortensen's house. They led 
to a mound shaped like a grave. The neigh- 
bour procured a spade, borrowing it from 
Mortensen himself, and speedily unearthed 
the body of Hay. There was a bullet wound 
at the back of his head. His valuables had 
been untouched, but the receipt which he 
was known to have carried to Mortensen's 
house afforded sufficient reason for the 

The whole crime seems to have been a very 
crude and elementary affair, and it is difficult 
to see how Mortensen could have hoped to 
save himself, unless, indeed, an immediate 
flight was in his mind. There could be no 
adequate defence, and the man was con- 
victed and shot — the law of Utah giving the 
criminal the choice as to the fashion of his 
own death. The only interest in the affair 
is the psychic one, for again old Sharp 
repeated at the trial that in a vision he had 
learned the facts. It is not a very clear 
case, however, and mav conceivably have 

""" sMflWbPfiflteri the °' d man - 



who had formed his own opinion as to the 
character of his son-in-law, and his probable 
actions. Such a solution would, however, 
involve a very extra ordinary coincidence. 

The next case which I would cite is very 
much more convincing — in fact, it is final in 
its clear proof of psychic action, though the 
exact degree may be open to discussion. 
The facts seem to have been established 
beyond all possible doubt, though there is 
some slight confusion about the date. 
According to the account* of Mr* Williams, 
of Cornwall, the chief actor, it was in the 
early days of May, 1812, that he thrice in 
the same night had a remarkable dream, 
Mr. Williams was a man of affairs, and the 
superintendent of some great Cornish mines. 
He was familiar with the lobby of the House 
of Commons, into which his interests had 
occasionally led him. It was this lobby 
which he perceived clearly in his dream. His 
attention %vas arrested by a man in a snuff- 
coloured coat, with metal buttons, who 
loitered there. Presently there entered a 
small, brisk man in a blue coat and white 
waistcoat. As he, 
passed the first 1 
man whipped out* ^ 

a pistol and shotj 
the other through 
the breast. In hid 
dream Mr, Wil- 
liams was made 
aware that the 
murdered man 
was Mr. Perceval, 
the Chancellor of 
the Exchequer. 
Mr, Williams was 
greatly impressed, 
and alarmed, by 
this dream, and he 
recounted it not 
only to his wife 
but also to several 
friends whom he 
met at the Godol- 
phin mine next 
day, asking thei: 
advice whether he 
should go up to 
London and re- 
port the matter. 
To this they 
answered very 
naturally, but un- 
fortunately as the 
event proved, that 
it was useless, and 
would only expose 
him to derision . 
On the thirteenth, 
nbout ten days 
after the dream, 

Mr + Williams narrates how his son, returning 
from Truro, rushed into the room crying, 
" Oh, father, your dream has come true ! 
Mr* Perceval has been shot in the House of 
Commons."' The deed, as is well known, 
was committed by a man named Bellingham, 
who had some imaginary grievance. The 
dress of the two chief actors, and all the 
other details, proved to be exactly as 

In an account in the Times sixteen years 
later it was stated that the vision was upon 
the actual night of the murder, which would 
reduce the case to ordinary clairvoyance, 
but the evidence is very strong that it was 
prophetic as well, Mr, Williams, writing in 
1832, four years after the Tim** account, 
repeated the story once more as it is set 
forth here, His wife, his friends at the 
mine, his projected journey to London, and 
his recollection of his son's arrival with the 
news all corroborate his version of the a Pair. 
What comment can we make upon such an 
incident ? Explain it we cannot, but at 
least we can get some light upon it by 

examining the 
statements of 
others who have 
had both the clair- 
voyant and the 
prophetic faculty. 
One of these was 
Swedenborg, who 
exhibited it again 
and again, but we 
have no exact 
account frcm him 
as to how his 
visions came* 
More to the point 
are the notes of 
Mr. Turvey, of 
Bournemouth, a 
most remarkable 
p sve hie, whose 
1 ' Beginnings of 
Seership " is one 
of the most illu- 
minating books I 
know. Our or* 
d i n ar y c o mmen t s 
must always be 
explanations from 
outside, but this 
gentleman, with 
his great powers 
and analytical 
brain, is able to 
give us more pre- 
cious information 
which comes from 
within. Mr, Tur- 


several BLOwajthwcDciwni: *Airui^*ft extraordinary 




clairvoyant, capable of throwing out his 
own etheric body at will, and communi- 
cating at once to others the information 
which it brought back, but he again and again 
saw scenes of the future which he put upon 
record and which frequently, if not invariably, 
were fulfilled. His description of his own 
sensation is very helpful and destined, I 
think, to be classical. He says : " At certain 
times I see a sort of ribbon moving like the 
endless belt of a cinema film, In colour it 
is very pale heliotrope, and seems to vibrate 
very rapidly. On it are numerous little 
pictures, some of which appear to be en- 
graved upon the film itself, while others are 
like pale blue photographs stuck upon the 
film. The former refer to past, the latter to 
future events. The locality is judged by 
the scenery and climatic heat " (felt by the 
observer) . " The dates are judged by the 
clearness of the pictures." 

Now, applying this analysis of Mr. Turvey 
to the far less complete experience of Mr. 
Williams, we get some glimmer of light. 
Mr. Williams was of Welsh or Cornish stock, 
and predisposed to the psychic. .In his busy 
life he could not develop it as Mr. Turvey had 
done, for the latter, though he was once a 
famous athlete, had broken in health to an 
extent which confined him to his chair. 
Yet at times his true innate powers could 
assert themselves, and thus he received or- 
perceived one of those cinema visions of 
which Mr. Turvey speaks. Why it should 
have been sent him is beyond our ken. 
Was it to prompt him to go to London, as he 
so nearly did, and try to turn the stream of 
fate ? Or was it as impersonal as were many 
of the prophetic visions of Mr. Turvey ? 
One cannot say, but there is a big fact 
standing up as clear as the Nelson Column, 
and to turn away one's eyes, pretend not 
to see it, and make no attempt to fit it into 
the general scheme of the universe is neither 
science nor common sense. Mr. Turvey has 
left it upon record that he saw moie un- 
pleasant than pleasant things, and Mr. 
Williams's experience was in accordance. 
This might be taken as supporting the idea 
that the visions are for the purpose of warn- 
ing and prevention. When one considers that 
in this instance the picture of the lobby of 
the House of Commons was presented to 
one of the very few men in Cornwall who 
would recognize the place when they saw it, 
it certainly suggests that the vision did not 
merely happen, but came for a definite 
purpose. It is not to be denied that this 
and many other prophetic cases strengthen 
the argument of the fatalist, who holds that 
our Life's path is marked out for us. On 
the other hand, the student will find a 
certain number of cases which give a com- 
forting assurance that, though the general 

path may be indicated, there is still a certain 
play of events which gives room for changes 
in the issue. I have notes, for example, of 
one dream or vision in which the subject 
had a most clear impression of a long series 
of events, which ended in his going down 
a coal-mine, the latter experience being 
particularly vivid. Some months after- 
wards the whole long episode occurred 
exactly as depicted, but when they came to 
the coal-mine the guide said : " I had hoped 
to take you down the coal-mine, but it is a 
holiday, and the cage is not working." In 
another case a young officer of my acquaint- 
ance was warned by a dead comrade that 
they would meet again upon a certain date. 
The young man spent the day in his dug-out, 
and late in the evening was congratulating 
himself upon having got through, when 
about 10 p.m. his Company Commander 
came round and said : " I fear I must ask 
you to do a rather dirty job. We have to 
find if there are any of our dead near the 
German wire. Take a few men and make 
an examination." He gave himself up as 
lost, and his batman, who had heard the 
story, burst into tears. The young fellow 
was so convinced of his own impending fate 
that he left his party safe in No Man's Land, 
thinking th^t there was no use in their l>eing 
sacrificed also. He went forward alone, 
made a perfectly successful search, returned 
in safety, and had no misfortune at all. 
Such a case must hearten up those who are 
overburdened by any prophecy or presenti- 
ment. It may be that some force — prayer, 
perhaps — can divert the stream of fate. 

We shall now turn to some cases which 
were more clearly ultramundane in their 
nature, and I would express my obligation 
to Mr. Harold Furniss, whose care has 
restored many details in his collection of 
criminal records. The first which I would 
choose is the murder of Sergeant Da vies in 
the Highlands in the year 1749. Davies was 
part of the English garrison left in the north 
after the suppression of Prince Charlie's, 
rising, and, like many of his comrades, he 
alleviated his exile by the excellent sport 
which the barren country afforded. Upon 
September 28th in that year he went shoot- 
ing near Braemar without any attendant. 
The rancour of the recent war had to some 
extent died down, apd in any case the 
sergeant, who was a powerful and deter- 
mined man, feared no opponent. The result 
showed, however, that he was overbold, as 
he never returned from his expedition. 
Search parties were sent out, but months 
passed and there were still no signs of the 
missing soldier. Five years passed, and the 
mystery was still unsolved. At the end of 
that time, two Highlanders Duncan Terig 
and Alex. Bain Aiacdonald, were arretted 



because the fowl in g- piece and some of the 
property of the lost man were found in their 
possession. The case rested mainly, how- 
ever, upon some evidence which was as 
Strange as any ever heard in a court of law, 

A farm labourer named Alex. Macpherson, 
aged twenty-six, deposed that one nieht in 
the summer of 
1750 - — that is, 
some nine months 
after the ser- 
geant 's disappear- 
ance — he was 
lying awake in 
the barn where 
all the servants 
slept, when he 
saw enter a man 
dressed in blue, 
who came to his 
bedside and beck- 
oned him to fol- 
low. Outside the 
door the figure 
turned and said : 
*M am Sergeant 
Da vies." The 
apparition then 
pointed to a dis- 
tant moss or 
swamp, and said : 
" You will find 
my bones there. 
Go and burv 
them at once, for 
I can have no 
peace, nor will I 
give you any, 
until my bones 
are buried, and 
you may get 
Donald Farqu- 
h arson to help 
you/' It then 

Early next day 
Macpherson, according to his own account, 
went to the place indicated and, obeying 
the exact instructions received, he came 
Straight upon the body, still wearing the 
blue regimental coat of Guise's Horse* MaC- 
pherson laid it upon the surface, dragging 
It out from the slime, but did not bury 
it. A few nights later the vision appeared 
to him once more as he lay in the barn, and 
reproached him with having failed to carry 
out the instructions given. Macpherson 
asked : " Who murdered you ? " To this 
the apparition answered ; M Duncan Terig 
and Alex, Macdonald/ 1 and vanished once 
more, Macpherson next day went to 
Farquharson and asked him to come and 
help bury the body, to which the latter 
agreed. It was accordingly done. No one 


else was told of the incident save only one 
Iriend, John Ore Avar, who was informed 
within two days of the burial. 

This story was certainly open to criticism, 
as the arrest was in 1754, and the alleged 
apparition and subsequent burial in 1750, 
so that one would naturally ask why no 

information had 
been given during 
four years. On 
the other hand, 
one could imagine 
that these Celtic 
Highlanders were 
somewhat in the 
position of Irish 
peasants in an 
agrarian outrage. 
They were bound 
together against a 
com mon enemy, 
and would not 
act save under 
pressure. This 
pressure arrived 
when the two 
suspects were 
actually arrested, 
the murdered 
man's gear was 
found upon them, 
and direct in- 
quiry was made 
from the folk in 
the neighbour- 
hood. No ill-will 
was shown to exist 
between Macpher- 
son and the ac- 
cused men, nor 
was any motive 
alleged for so ex- 
traordinary a con* 
coction. On the 
psychic side there 
are also some 
have conceived 
return, as others 
order to identify 

objections. One would 
that the sergeant might 
seem to have done, in 
his murderers, but in this case that was 
a secondary result, and the main one ap- 
pears to have been the burial of his own 
remains. Spirits are not much concerned 
about their own bodies, In a communication 
which I saw recently, the deceased alluded 
to his body as " that thing that I used to 
go about in + " Still, earthly prejudices die 
hard, and if Da vies, sprung from a decent 
stock, yearned for a decent burial, it would 
surely not be an unnatural thing. 

There was some corroboration for Mac- 
pherson's weird story. There were female 
quarters in this barn, and a woman worker. 



the second occasion of the apparition she 
saw " something naked come in at the door 
and go straight to Macpherson 's bed, which 
frighted her so much that she drew the clothes 
over her head." She added that when it 
appeared it came in a bowing posture, but 
she could not tell what it was. The next 
toorning she asked Macpherson what it was 
that had troubled them the night before, 
and he answered that she might be easy, for 
it would trouble them no more. 

There is a discrepancy here between the 
blue-coated figure of the first vision and the 
#< something naked " of the second, but the 
fact remained that the woman claimed to 
have seen something alarming, and to have 
alluded to it next day. Macpherson, how- 
ever, could speak nothing but Gaelic, his 
evidence being interpreted to the Court. 
Lockhart, the defending barrister, naturally 
asked in what tongue the vision spoke, to 
which Macpherson answered : " In as good 
Gaelic as ever I heard in Lochaber." 
4i Pretty good for the ghost 'of an English 
sergeant," said Lockhart, and this facile 
retort made the Court laugh, and finally 
brought about the acquittal of the prisoners, 
in spite of the more material proofs which 
could not be explained away. Later, both 
Lockhart and the advocate engaged with 
him admitted their belief in the guilt of their 

As a matter of fact, Davies had fought at 
Culloden in April, 1746, and met his end in 
September, 1749, so that he had been nearly 
three and a half years in the Highlands, 
mixing in sport with the gillies, and it is 
difficult to suppose that he could not muster 
a few simple sentences of their language. 
But apart from that, although our informa- 
tion shows that knowledge has to be acquired 
by personal effort, .and not by miracle in the 
after life, still it is to be so acquired, and 
if Sergeant Davies saw that it was only in 
a Gael that he would find those rare psychic 
gifts which would enable him to appear and 
to communicate (for every spirit manifes- 
tation must have a material basis), then it 
is not inconceivable that he would master 
the means, during the ten months or so 
which elapsed before his reappearance. 
Presuming that Macpherson's story is true, 
it by no means follows that he was 4:he 
medium, since any one of the sleepers in the 
barn might have furnished that nameless 
atmosphere which provides the correct 
conditions. In all such cases it is to be 
remembered that this atmosphere is rare, 
and that a spirit comes back not as it would 
or when it would, but as it can. Law, in- 
exorable law, still governs every fresh annexe 
which we add to our knowledge, and only 
by defining and recognizing its limitations 
will we gain some dim perception of the 

conditions of the further life and its relation 
to the present one. 

We now pass to a case where the spirit 
.interposition seems to have been as clearly 
proved as anything could be. It was, it is 
true, some time ago, but full records are 
still available. In the year 1632 a yeoman 
named John Walker lived at the village of 
Great Lumley, some miles north of Durham. 
A cousin named Anne Walker kept house 
for him, and intimacy ensued, with the 
prospect of the usual results. John Walker 
greatly feared the scandal, and took diabolical 
steps to prevent it. He sent the young 
woman over to the town of Chester-le-Street 
to the care of one Datme Carr. , To this 
matron Anne Walker confessed everything, 
adding that Walker had used the ominous 
phrase " that he would take care both of 
her and of her child." One night at Dame 
Carr's door there appeared the sinister visage 
of Mark Sharp, a Blackburn collier, with a 
specious message which induced the girl to 
go with him into the dusk. She was never 
seen again. Walker, upon being appealed 
to by Dame Carr, said that it was all right, 
and that it was better in her condition that 
she should be among strangers. The old 
lady had her suspicions, but nothing could 
be done, and the days passed on. 

A fortnight later a miller, named James 
Graham, was grinding corn in his mill at 
night some miles away. It was after mid- 
night when he descended to the floor -ot the 
mill after putting a fresh fill of corn in the 
hopper. His exact experience, as preserved 
in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, was as 
follows : — 

" The mill door being shut, thire stood a 
woman in the midst of the floor, with her 
hair hanging down and all bloody, with five 
large wounds on her head. He being much 
amazed began to bless himself, and at last 
asked her who she was and what she wanted. 
She answered, ' I am the spirit of Anne 
Walker, who lived with John Walker. . . . 
He promised to send me to where I should 
be well looked to . . . and then I should 
come again and keep his house. I was one 
night sent away with Mark Sharp, who, 
upon a certain moor ' (naming the place) 
' slew me with a pick such as men dig coal 
with, and gave me these five wounds, and 
after threw my body i tto a coal-pit hard 
by, and hid the pick under a bank, and his 
shoes and stockings being bloody he en- 
deavoured to wash them, but seeing the 
blood would not part he hid them there,' " 
The spirit ended by ordering the miller to 
reveal the truth on pain of being haunted. 

In this case, as in the last, the message 
was not delivered. The horrified miller was 
so impressed that he would by no means 
be alone, tut he shirked the delicate task 



which had been confided to him. In spite 
of all his precautions, however, he found 
himself alone one evening, with the result 
that the vision instantly reappeared, " very 
fierce and cruel," to use his description, and 
insisted that he should do as commanded. 
More obdurate than the Celtic Macpherson, 
the miller awaited a third summons, which 
came in so terrific a form in his own garden 
that his resistance was completely broken 
down, and so, four days before Christmas, 
he went to the nearest magistrate and lodged 
his deposition. Search was at once made, 
and the vision was justified in all particulars, 
which, it must be admitted, has not always 
been the case where information has seemed 
to come from beyond. The girl's body, the 
five wounds in the head,, the pick, the 
bloodstained shoes and stockings were all 
found, and as the body was in a deep coal- 
pit there seemed no normal means by which 
the miller could possibly have known the 
nature of the wounds unless he had himself 
inflicted them, which is hardly consistent 
either with the known facts, with his appear- 
ance as informer, or with the girl's admissions 
to Dame Carr. 

John Walker and Mark Sharp were both 
arrested and were tried for murder at the 
Durham Assizes before Judge Davenport. 
It was shown that the miller was unknown, 
save by sight, to either prisoner, so that it 
could not be suggested that he had any 
personal reason for swearing away their 
lives by a concocted tale. The trial was an 
extraordinary one, for there seems to have 
been a psychic atmosphere such as has never 
been recorded in a prosaic British court of 
law. The foreman of the jury, a Mr. Fair- 
bairn, declared in an affidavit that he saw 
during the trial the " likeness of a child 
standing upon Walker's shoulder." This 
might be discounted as being the effect upon 
an emotional nature of the weird evidence 
to which he listened, but it received a singular 
corroboration 'from the judge, who wrote 
afterwards to a fellow -lawyer, Mr, Serjeant 
Hutton, of Goldsborough, that he himself 
w r as aware of a figure such as Fairbairn 
described, and that during the whole pro- 
ceedings he was aware of a most uncanny 
and unusual sensation for which he could 
by no means account. The verdict was 
guilty, and the two men were duly executed. 

The array of responsible witnesses in 
this case was remarkable. There was the 
judge himself, Mr. Fairbairn with his 
affidavit, Mr. James Smart, Mr. William 
Lumley, of Great Lumley, and others. 
The deposition of the miller, James Graham, 
is preserved in the Bodleian Library* Alto- 
gether, it is difficult to see how any Case 
could be better authenticated, and I have 
no doubt myself that the facts were as 

stated, and that this single case is enough 
to convince an unprejudiced mind of the 
continuance of individuality and of the 
penetrability of that screen which separates 
us from the dead. 

What comment can psychic science make 
upon such an episode ? In the first place, 
I would judge that the miller was a powerful 
medium — that is, he exuded that rare 
atmosphere which enables a spirit to be- 
come visible as the meteorite becomes 
visible when it passes through the atmo- 
sphere of earth. It is, I repeat, a rare 
quality, and in this case seems to have 
been unknown to its possessor, though I 
should expect to find that the miller had 
many other psychic experiences which took 
a less public form. This is the reason 
why the apparition did not appear before 
the magistrate himself, but could only 
approach him by messenger. The spirit 
may have searched some time before she 
found her medium, just as Sergeant Da vies 
was ten months before he found the High- 
lander who had those physical qualities 
which enabled him to communicate. Law 
and obedience to law run through the 
whole subject. It is also abundantly 
evident that the confiding woman who 
had been treated with such cold-blooded 
ingratitude and treachery carried over to 
the other world her natural feelings of in- 
dignation and her desire for justice. As 
a curious detail it is also evident that she 
recovered her consciousness instantly after 
death, and was enabled to observe the 
movements of her assassin. With what 
organs, one may ask ? With what organs 
do we see clear details in a dream ? There 
is something there besides our material eyes. 

A most reasonable objection may be 
urged as to why many innocent people 
have suffered death and yet have experienced 
no super-normal help which might have 
saved them. Any criminologist could name 
off-hand a dozen cases where innocent men 
have gone to the scaffold. Why were they 
not saved ? I have written in vain if I 
have not by now enabled the reader to 
answer the question himself. If the physical 
means are not there, then it is impossible. 
It may seem unjust, but not more so than 
the fact that a ship provided with wireless 
may save its passengers while another is 
heard of no more. The problem of un- 
merited suffering is part of that larger 
problem of the functions of pain and evil, 
which can only be explained on the suppo- 
sition that spiritual chastening and elevation 
come in this fashion, and that this end is 
so important that the means are trivial in 
comparison. We must accept this pro- 
visional explanation, or we are faced with 




Can these dim forces which we see looming 
above and around us be turned to the use 
of man ? It would be a degradation to 
use them for purely material ends, and it 
would, in my opinion, bring some retribution 
with it; but where the interests of Justice 
are concerned, I am convinced that they 
could indeed be used to good effect. Here 
is a case in point. 

Two brothers, Eugene and Paul Dupont, 
lived some fifty years ago in the Rue St. 
Honor£ of Paris. Eugene was a banker, 
Paul a man of letters. Eugene disappeared. 
Every Conceivable effort was made to trace 
him, but the police finally gave it up as 
hopeless. Paul was persevering, however, 
and in company with a friend, Laporte, he 
visited Mme. Huerta, a well-known clair- 
voyante, and asked for her assistance. 

We have no record as to how far articles 
of the missing man were given to the medium, 
as a bloodhound is started on a trail, but 
whether it was by psychometry or not, 
Mme, Huerta, in the mesmerized state, 
very quickly got in touch with the past of 
the two brothers, from the dinner where 
they had last met. She described Eugene, 
and followed his movements from the hour 
that he left the restaurant until he vanished 
into a house which was identified without 
difficulty by her audience, though she was 
unable to give the name of the street. She 
then described how inside the house Eugene 
Dupont had held a conference with two 
men, whom she described, how he had 
signed some paper, and had received a 
bundle of bank-notes. She then saw him 
leave the house, she saw the two men follow 
him, she saw two other men join in the 
pursuit, and finally she saw the four assault 
the banker, murder him, and throw the 
body into the Seine. 

Paul was convinced by the narrative, 
but his comrade, Laporte, regarded it as a 
fabrication. They had no sooner reached 
home, however, than they learned that 
the missing man had been picked out of 
the river and was exposed at the Morgue. 
The police, however, were inclined to take 
the view of suicide, as a good deal of money 
was in the pockets. Paul Dupont knew 
better, however, He hunted out the house, 
he discovered that the occupants did business 

with his brother's firm, he found that they 
held a receipt for two thousand pounds in 
exchange for notes paid to his brother on 
the night of the crime, and yet those notes 
were missing. A letter making an appoint- 
ment was also discovered. 

The two men, a father and son, named 
Dubuchet, # were then arrested, and the 
missing links were at once discovered.* 
The pocket-book which Eugene Dupont 
had in his possession on the night of the 
murder was found in Dubuchet's bureau. 
Other evidence was forthcoming, and finally 
the two villains were found guilty and were 
condemned to penal servitude for life. 
The medium was not summoned as a witness, 
on the ground that she was not conscious 
at the time of her vision, but her revelations 
undoubtedly brought about the discovery 
of the crime. ; " 

Now it is clear in this authentic case 
that the police would have saved them- 
selves much trouble, and come to a swifter 
conclusion, had they themselves consulted 
Mme. Huerta in the first instance. And 
if it is obviously true in this case, why 
might it not be so in many other cases ? 
It should be possible at every great police 
centre to have the call upon the best clair- 
voyant or other medium that can be got, 
and to use them freely for what they jare 
worth. None are infallible. They have 
their off-days and their failures. No man 
should ever be convicted upon their evidence. 
But when it comes to suggesting clues and 
links, then it might be invaluable. In the 
case of Mr. Foxwell, the London stock- 
broker who fell into the Thames some years 
ago, it is well known that the mode of his 
death, and the place where his body would 
be found, were described by Von Bourg, 
the crystal-gazer, and that it was even as 
he had said. I venture to say that the 
mere knowledge that the police had an 
ally against whom every cunning precaution 
might prove unavailing would in itself be 
a strong deterrent to premeditated crime. 
This is so obvious, that if it had not been 
for vague scientific and religious prejudices, 
it would surely have been done long ago. 
Its adoption may be one of the first practical 
and material benefits given by psychic 
science to humanity. 

[In the next article Sir A. Conan Doyle will treat 

the profoundly interesting subject of Spiritism from 

yet another point of view.] 

by Google 

Original from 

Double Event 



Illustrated by A.Lee te 




THINK, sir/' announced 
Barker, carefully — "I 
can't be absolutely certain, 
but I go so far as to ven^ 
ture to say — 1 rather 
imagine that, after taking 
considerable trouble and 


also a certain amount of pains- 

Life is brief/' said Mr. Merrilees, glancing 
up from his writing-desk. " Try to finish 
your sentence, Barker ere we are both taken 
from this world/' 

" All I wanted to tell you, sir, is that 
I'm at last fairly on the track of the com- 
panion to that vase up there on the top of 
the bookcase." 

A Did I — forgive me for in- 
quiring — omit to lock up the 
liqueur-stand ? " 

Barker offered a gesture of 
protest against the implied 
criticism on his habits, and 
stared fixedly at the vase. 
There bad been a time when, 
newly purchased in King Street, 
St. James X it owned a more 
conspicuous seat 
amongst the trea- 
sures of the room. 
The comment of 
friends, allowed to in- 
spect — " But) what a 
tragedy that you haven't 
the pair ! " — this, on the 
hundredth repetition, caused 
Mr. Merrilees to transfer it, 
with his own hands, to a com- 
paratively obscure position, 

'The manner," said 
Barker, formally, " in which 
1he discovery occurred is some- 
what interesting." 
' l\nok lure/' interrupted his master, 
swinging around on the revolving chair. 
* You are, either for the pleasure of hearing 
your own voice or frojji some insane notion 
of entertaining me, about to give some 
preposterous yarn of catching sight in the 

window of a second-hand " 

" The companion vase, sir, is in the pos- 
session of Mrs* Grant, Mrs. Grant, of 
Albion Street, Hyde Park/' 

" My cousin," exclaimed Mr. Merrilees, 
jumping up, 

" Second cousin, sir, I believe." 
" Barker," said his master, walking to 
and fro rapidly, " be very particular now 
how you answer my questions. This vase 
is one of a pair that formerly belonged to 
an uncle of mine, A great man, a notable 
lawyer, a prominent statesman. I bought 
the vase when I saw it offered for sale 
because I wished to have a souvenir of my 
distinguished relative. Thinking it likely 
that the other was held by Mrs. Grant, I 
went to heiU , 31 k tboK ,, U taxi, and went to 




her. She denied any knowledge of it. And 
now you come and tell me it is in her house. 
Consequently, I have to face the certainty 
that either you or she is telling the truth. 
But not both." 

" Far be it from me," said Barker, dog- 
gedly, " to hint at anything against a lady, 
but facts, sir, look at 'em how you will, are 
facts, and there's no getting away from 'em."« 

Invited to speak freely, Barker admitted 
that chance had been his most prominent 
helper. Chance took him to Green Park to 
hear the band on Sunday evening. Chance 
induced him to take the extravagant step 
of disbursing twopence^halfpenny to go into 
the enclosure. Chance found him with a 
cigar but no match, and chance, assuredly, 
was responsible for the circumstance that a 
young woman seated near — and hereinafter 
referred to as Miss D. — was able, on noting 
his predicament, to offer a box of Swan 
vestas, and (after conversation regarding 
London's open spaces, music of brass as 
compared with string, price of boots) to 
urge he would borrow it, and hand it back 
on any occasion when he chanced to be near 
Albion Street. Barker, it appeared, called 
there on the Monday Miss D.'s mistress 
was out, and Miss D. obtained a permit 
from cook to show her friend the drawing- 
roopi and its contents. Barker, catching 
sight of the vase, said, " And where did 
she pick that up, I wonder ? " Miss D. 
replied, "Oh, that was left to her by a 
relative. Everybody mentions what a 
shame it is she hasn't got the pair ! " 
Barker said nothing further, but, after 
thinking the matter over, decided to speak 
to his master. 

" I am opposed to burglary," said Mr. 
Merrilees, now thoroughly interested, " and 
I have conscientious objections to house- 
breaking, but I feel I have no right to 
impose my views, without discrimination, 
on other people. This Miss D. of yours. 
Barker. Is she a broad-minded young 
woman, untrammelled by ideas that hamper 
some of us concerning property ? What I 
mean is, would she, for a consideration, 
smuggle the vase out of the house one 
evening, in a fish-mat, or game-basket, or 
something of the kind ? " 

" I fancy not, sir." 

" You don't appear to be sure." 
' Miss D., sir," explained Barker, 
" turned out to be a Christadelphian. On 
ascertaining that I had served in Palestine, 
she broke off the engagement." 

" You met her, for the first time, last 
Sunday, and the engagement is already at 
an end ? " 

" That's her view, sir." 

" Barker," said Mr. Merrilees, speaking 
with earnestness, " I envy you the celerity 

with which you manage your affairs of 
the heart. In my own case, I have always, 
I fear, erred on the side of deliberation." 

" So I've understood, sir." 

" Who tpld you ? " demanded the other, 
irritatedly. " Who has been carrying tittle- 
tattle to and fro ? Why do you listen to 
these rumours ? " Barker apologized. His 
master regained composure, and went back 
to the subject. " I have heard of nothing 
so rapid," he mentioned, " since the experi- 
ences of Mr. Solomon Grundy. And I cannot 
help wishing you had kept the matter in 
suspense until this question of the vase had 
been settled. You couldn't, I suppose, take 
up the threads afresh and " 

" Pardon me, sir," said Barker, with 
respect, " but Miss D. was definite." 

,4 A woman's nay doth stand for naught." 

" Not in our rank of society, sir." 

Barker's master thought for a few moments. 
" Put out my oldest suit," he ordered. 

Mr. Merrilees, when he set out, wore, for 
head-gear, a tweed cap, pulled well over the 
eyes ; he carried a bag, left in the flat by a 
workman who had seemingly not cultivated 
the memory to a full extent. Mr. Merrilees 
took omnibus so far as Marble Arch, and 
thence walked westwards, practising the 
leisurely gait of one paid by the hour. At 
the house in Albion Street, on the front door 
being opened, he said he had called to put 
the telephone right ; always a safe and a 
plausible excuse. The young woman 
(obviously Miss D.) said that mistress would 
be very glad, and, conducting him to a room 
off the hall, prepared to wait until the job 
was completed. 

41 The fault," announced Mr. Merrilees, 
assuming a hoarse voice, "is, to my mind, 
in the droring-room." 

41 In that case, we will make our way 

" No need to trouble you, miss." 

** I know my duty, thank you." 

Mr. Merrilees, at the moment of entering 
the drawing-room, saw the vase. He found 
his resolution increased ; the necessity for 
promptitude became clear. 

" How long is the old lady going to be ? 

" My mistress," answered the young 
woman, precisely, " is by no means old, 
and, as to the length of her absence from 
the household, that I cannot say. An 
hour, maybe.. Perhaps longer." 

" Then I'd better begin stripping off the 
wall-paper right away." 

" You dare ! " she challenged, alarmedly. 
She added a threat to summon cook and 
to send for the road -sweeper. Mr. Merri- 
lees, replying to a suggestion, said it was 
impossible for him to call later; he would, 
however, agree to take a seat and wait for 
Mrs. Grant, The voiing woman mentioned 




that it was customary for gentlemen to 
take their caps off on finding themselves 

Despite hints, she refused to leave Mr. 
Merrilees, and he talked to her on casual 
subject*, hoping to exhaust patience ; a 
chance word gave an opening for the young 
woman to mention that she was about to 
marry. The name of the fortunate indi- 
vidual was on the . edge of being disclosed 
when the turning of a latch-key was heard 
at the front door below, and she vanished* 
Mr. Merrilees had now some adventurous 
notion of seizing the va§e T and, with it, 
making his escape* Mrs. Grant was, he 

" If I told you, you'd laugh." 

Mrs. Grant, acutely pained by this sug- 
gestion, sat down, and pulling a chair in 
her direction, requested him to take it. 
He was asked to give all the particulars of 
his change of fortune, and this would have 
made serious demands on his powers of 
romancing, but that he, by an inspiration , 
found an excuse, 

w I shall get myself into trouble," he 
urged, 4t if I'm too long over this repairing 

" I know, 1 know ! " she remarked, 
sympathetically. 4i But do tell me just 
tli is- You had, I presume, to sell every- 


believed, still a dressy person, and nothing 
seemed more likely than that she would 
go direct to her room and change, thus 
leaving the way clear. 

" Stuart ! " cried her voice at the door- 

r Jessie ! " he said, involuntarily. 

She came forward, holding out her hand ; 
Mr, Merrilees fumbled at his cap, but Mrs. 
Grant insisted on the exchange of a greeting, 

4i And have you really/* she asked, with 
emotion, fi come down to this ? Why 
didn't someone tell me ? I had an idea 
you were quite well off/' 

" These are topsy-turvy days/ 1 

" But it*s splendid of you to face the 
situation in this way. How much do you 
earn a week, Stuart ? ,J 

ISB^fe 3 

thing. What happened to the vase you 
once bought, for a sum greater than I 
could afford, at Christie's ? I specially 
want to know/' 

** That," he admitted, fl I saved from the 
general wreck/' 

She patted his hand soothingly. " What 
will you take for it, Stuart ? " 

" It is not for sale, Jessie, to you/' 

" Does that," she cried, joyously, " does 
that mean you will make me a present of 
it ? " In an impetuous way, she leaned 
forward and kissed him, thus arresting 
the contradiction he was about to give ; 
it seemed to him elementary rules of be- 
haviour required that he should, in acknow- 
ledgment, kiss hftt.from 



" I am not likely to forget," he answered. 

" The last time." 

" The previous time," he corrected. 

" It doesn't seem a great while since." 

"Appears but yesterday," agreed Mr. 

" Near Arthur's Seat, just outside Edin- 

" I was nervous," he said, " lest you 
should be offended." 

" I was disappointed," she remarked, 
" because you kissed me only once. You 
were but a lad then, Stuart." 

" You are little more than a girl now, 

" Dear man ! " she said, contentedly. 
" Where, and when, shall I send for the 
vase ? Arc you living in one of those 
queer model dwellings ? " 

" My residence," said Mr. Merrilees, " has 
no just claim to that description. I will 
send the vase along." 

" By hand," she recommended. " Don't 
trust the parcels delivery companies." 

" It shall come by someone whom I can 

Below, the telephone bell rang, and the 
maid could be heard answering the call. 
Mrs. Grant went to the landing to see if 
her presence was required ; the young 
woman called up that the message was for 
herself, and that the instrument appeared 
to be all in order again. 

" How clever of you," said the mistress 
of the house, turning to Mr. Merrilees. 
" Some workmen would have taken ajes." 

" The great thing/' he said, modestly, 
" is to find out what is wrong, and then to 
put it right." 

" Something is wrong with my life, 
Stuart. I had an idea it was the "vase, 
but now that, thanks to your generosity, 
I am to have the pair, I can see there is 
still " 

" We must meet again." 

" I suppose Sundav is your only free 
day ? " 

" I get my Saturday afternoons," he 

" Are these " — she touched his waistcoat — 
•' forgive me for asking — are these your only 
clothes ? " 

" I have others." 

"In that case, come here to lunch so soon 
as you can spare the time." 

" Delighted. One o'clock ? " 

" One-thirty." 

" Good," said Mr. Merrilees, promptly ; 
• i- I'll make a note of it directly I get back 
to Jermyn Street." 

M Jermyn Street West ? " 

" That," he remarked, with haste, " is 
where my next job is." 

Digitized by UOOgle 

" Telephone to me, now and again, when 
you are engaged on one of these tasks. It 
will be a real pleasure, Stuart, to hear your 

The honest workman was shown out of 
the house by the maid. It might have 
been as a result of confused thoughts that 
he imagined the young woman, in doing 
so, permitted her right eye-lid to deflect 

At the flat, Barker was summoned, and 
appeared, after an interval, in a tweed suit. 
There was a suspicion of independence in 
his manner. 

" Barker, you know the vase ? " 

" I do." 

" Have it packed securely. In a way 
that no damage can come to it." 

" Very well." 

" Which way are you going, Barker ? " 

" Had an idea, a vague sort of a plan, 
a sort of a dim notion, to take a bit of a 
promenade along Bayswater Road way." 

"In that case, be so good as to take the 
vase to an address which I will write on a 
sheet of note-paper." 

It gratified Mr. Merrilees, in glancing out 
of the window, to note that within the 
space of one minute and a half, Barker 
was out carrying the package, and making 
his way briskly. " A treasure," said Mr. Mer- 
rilees, referring to his man. " I shouldn't 
know what to do if I were to lose him." 
He went to the telephone book, and found 
Mrs. Grant's number. 

" Merrilees speaking. Oh, is that you, 
Jessie ? Forgiv me for ringing you up so. 
quickly, but I wanted to say the vase is 
on its way. What is that ? You have 
changed your mind ? You want me now 
to aCcept the one you possess ? Oh, well 

now, that's extremely good of you, but 

You're quite sure ? Well, if you really 
mean it, will you give yours to my mes- 
senger, and tell him to bring both back in 
a taxi ? And I say, Jessie. There's a 
good deal I have to explain. If you don't 
mind, I'll come to lunch to-morrow. Bless 
you ! " 

An hour later, he rang again. 

" Bothering you again, dear, but my mes- 
senger has not yet returned. Can you 

What's that ? Speak slowly, please. Your 
maid has gone, leaving a note to say that 
she is marrying Barker, and they have taken 
the two vases as a wedding present ? Well, 
of all the pieces of infernal cheek 1 " 

They have not yet decided whether to 
live in Jermyn Street or in Albion Street. 
This arranged, the engagement of Mr. 
Merrilees and Mrs. Grant will be announced 
in the public journals. 



The Hardest Bridge Problems. 


The series of problems published last winter under the title of "The Hardest Bridge Problems" 

proved so popular with our readers that we now give another series, selected by Mr. R. F. 

Foster as examples of the varying styles of six different composers, which we feel sure will be 

found equally entertaining. Solutions next month. 

i.— By R. C. Mankowski. 

Hearts— 6. 

Clubs— Knave, 10, 7, 5, 4. 
Diamonds — None. 
Spades— None. 

Hearts— 8, 7. 
Clubs— None. 
Diamonds— None. 
Spades— Knave, 

10, 6, 4. 

Hearts— None. 
Clubs— 8, 6, 3. 
Diamonds — Knave, 6. 
Spades— 7. 

Hearts— 10. 
Clubs— None. 
Diamonds — 8, 3. 
Spades— Queen, 8, 5. 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. V and Z to win four. 

4.— By R. C. Lasher. 

Hearts— 9, 4, 2. 
Clubs — Ace, 4. 
Diamonds— None. 
Spades— King, 5. 

Hearts— 7, 5. 
Diamonds— Ace, 9. 
Spades — Knave, 10. 

Hearts — & 
Clubs— Queen, knave. 
Diamonds— King, 6. 
Spades — Queen, 6. 

Hearts— 8. 
Clubs— 8, 7. 

Diamonds— Queen, 10, 3. 
Spades— Ace. 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win .Jl -even. 

2.'— By Alex. Purges. 
Hearts— King, 3. 

Clubs— 5. 4.3; 
Diamonds — None. 

Hearts— Knave. 
Clubs— 7, 6. 
Diamonds— 10. 
Spades— King, 7, 4, 

jades — 8, 






Hearts— 9. 
Clubs — Knave, S. 
Diamonds— King, 6, 5. 
Spades— 6. 

Hearts— None. 
Clubs— King, 10. 
Diamonds— Queen, 6, 3. 
Spades— Ace, 5. 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win six. 

5.— By H. Boaroman. 

Hearts— 8. 
Clubs— Queen, 3, 2. 
Diamonds — Ace, 9, 7, 6. 
Spades— None. 

Hearts— 7. 
Clubs— King, 7, 5. 
Diamonds— King, io, 2. 
Spades— 5. 

Hearts— 3. 
Clubs— Knave, 4. 
Diamonds— Knav», 

c a - 3 ' 5 ' 

Spades— 9. S. 

Hearts— o, 4. 
Clubs— 8, 6. 

Diamonds— Queen, 4, 3. 
Spades — 6. 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win five. 

3.— By T. J. Wertbnbaker. 

Hearts— 4. 
Clubs— Ace, 5, 3, 2. 
Diamonds — King, 5, 4. 
Spades— None. 

Hearts— None/ 
Clubs— Queen, knave, 

7, 6. 4- 
Diamonds — 3. 
Spades — 8, 4. 

Hearts — None. 
Clubs— 9. 8. 
Diamonds — Knave, 

xo, 9. 
Spades— King, 10, 5. 

Hearts — 2. 
Clubs — 10. 

Diamonds— Queen, 8, 6, 
Spades — 9, 3, 2. 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win six. 

6.— By S. C. Kinsby. 

Hearts — Knave, 9, 3. 
Clubs— 3, 2. 
Diamonds — None. 
Spades — King, 10. 

Hearts — Ace, 4. 
Clubs — King, 10, 6. 
Diamond* — 3, 6. 
Spades — None. 

Hearts — ic, 7. 5. 
Clubs — Knave. 
Diamonds — None. 
Spades — 9, S, 5. 

Hearts — King, queen, 8. 
Clubs — Ace, queen. 
Diamonds — King. 

d Z to win *ix« 






hy the Author of *" The Three 
Black Pennya^ one ox the most 
striking works of fiction which 
have appeared for many years. 

This story will be included in 
11 The Happy End;' shortly to 
be published by Heinemann, 


ROM the window of the 
drawing-room Lavinia San- 
viano could see, on the left, 
the Statue of Garibaldi. .where 
the Corso Regina Maria cut 
into the Lungamo ; on the 
right, and farther along, the 
grey-green foliage of the Cascine. Before 
her the Arno flowed away, sluggish and with- 
out a wrinkle or reflection on its turbid 
surface, into Tuscany, It was past the 
middle of the afternoon, and a steady pro- 
cession of carriages and mounted officers in 
pale blue tunics moved below toward the 
shade of the Caserne, 

Lavinia could not see this gay progress 
very well, for the window — it had only a 
narrow ledge guarded by an iron grille — was 
practically filled by her sister, Gheta, and 
Anna Mantegazza. Occasionally she leaned 
forward, pressed upon Gheta 's shoulder, for 
a hasty unsatisfactory glimpse, 

*' You are crushing my sleeves ! " Gheta 
finally and sharply complained. " Do go 
somewhere else. Anna and I want to talk 
without your young ears eternally about* 
When do you return to the convent ? " 

Lavinia drew back. However, she didn't 
leave, She was accustomed to her sister's 

complaining, and — unless the other went to 
their father— she ignored her hints. Lavinia h s 
curiosity in worldly scenes and topics was 
almost as full as her imagination thereof. 
She was sixteen, and would have to endure 
another year of obscurity before her marriage 
could be thought of, or she take any part in 
the social life where Gheta moved with such 
marked success, 

But, Lavinia realized with a sigh, she 
couldn't expect to be pursued like Gheta, 
who was very beautiful. Gheta was so 
exceptional that she had been introduced to 
the Florentine polite world without the 
customary preliminary of marriage. She 
could, almost everyone agreed, marry very 
nearly. whomever and whenever she willed. 
Even now, after the number of years she 
had been going about with practically all 
her friends wedded, no one seriously criti- 
cized the Sanvianos for not insisting on a 
match with one of the several eligibles who 
had unquestionably presented themselves, 

Gheta was slender and round ; her com- 
plexion had the flawless pallid bloom of a 
gardenia ; her eves and hair were dark, and 
her lips an enticing scarlet thread, Perhaps 
her chin was a trifle lacking in definition, her 
voice a little devoid of warmth ; but those 
were ^n^^fpcigp^^^^p so precisely 



radiant. Her dress was always noticeably 
lovely ; at present she wore pink tulle over 
lustrous grey, with a high silver girdle, a 
narrow black velvet band and diamond clasp 
about her delicate full throat. 

Anna Mantegazza was more elaborately 
gowned, in white embroidery, with a little 
French hat ; but Anna Mantegazza was an 
American with millions, and elaboration was 
a commonplace with her. Lavinia wore 
only a simple white slip, confined about her 
flexible waist with a yellow ribbon ; and she 
was painfully conscious of the contrast she 
presented to the two women seated in the 
front of the window. 

The fact was that a whole fifth of the 
Sanvianos' income was spent on Gheta's 
clothes ; and this left only the most meagre 
. provision for Lavinia. But this, the latter 
felt, was just — still in the convent, she re- 
quired comparatively little personal adorn- 
ment ; while the other's beauty demanded 
a worthy emphasis. Later Lavinia wdUld 
have tulle and silver lace. She wished, how- 
ever, that Gheta would get married ; for 
Lavinia knew that even 2 she came home 
she would be held back until the older sister 
was settled. It was her opinion that Gheta 
was very silly to show such indifference to 
Cesare Orsi. Suddenly she longed to have 
men — not fat and good-natured like the 
Neapolitan banker, but austere and romantic 
— in love with her. She clasped her hands 
to her fine young breast and a delicate colour 
stained her cheeks. She stood very straight and 
her breathing quickened through parted lips. 

She was disturbed by the echo of a voice 
from the cool depths of the house, and turned 
at approaching footfalls. A small man in 
correct English clothes, with a pointed bald 
head and a heavy nose, entered impulsively. 

" It's Bembo," Lavinia announced flatly. 

" Of course it's Bembo," he echoed, 
vivaciously. '■ Who's more faithful to the 
Casa Sanviano " 

" At tea time," Lavinia interrupted. 

" Lavinia," her lister said, sharply, " don't 
be impertinent. There are so many strangers 
driving," she continued, to the man ; " do 
stand and tell us who they are. You know 
every second person in Europe." 

He pressed eagerly forward, and Anna 
Mantegazza turned and patted his hand. 

" I wish you were so attentive to Pier and 
myself," she remarked, both light and 
serious. " I'd like to buy you — you're in- 
dispensable in Florence." 

*' Contessa ! " he protested. " Delighted 1 
At once." 

" Bembo," Gheta demanded, " duty— 
who's that in the little carriage with the bells 
bowed over the horses ? " 

He leaned out over the grille, his beady, 
alert gaze sweeping the way below. 

Vol. lix.-6. 


" Litolff," he pronounced without a mo- 
ment's hesitation — " a Russian swell. The 

girl with him is " He stopped with a 

side glance at Lavinia, a slight shrug. 

" Positively, Lavinia," Gheta insisted again, 
more crossly, " you're a nuisance I When 
do you go back to school ? " 

" In a week," Lavinia answered, serenely. 

With Bembo added to the others, she 
could see almost nothing of the scene below. 
Across the river the declining sun cast a rosy 
light on the great glossy hedges and clipped 
foliage of the Boboli Gardens ; far to the 
left the paved height of the Piazzale Michel- 
angelo rose above the sombre sweep of foots 
and bridges ; an aged bell rang harshly and 
mingled with the inconsequential clatter on 
the Lungarno. An overwhelming sense of 
the mystery of being stabbed, sharp as a 
knife, at her heart ; a choking longing pos- 
sessed her to experience all — all the wonders 
of life, but principally love. 

" Look, Bembo ! " Anna Mantegazza sud- 
denly exclaimed. " No ; there — approach- 
ing ! Who's that singular person in the 
hired carriage ? " 

Her interest was so roused that Lavinia, 
once more forgetful of Gheta's sleeves, 
leaned over her sister's shoulder, and im- 
mediately distinguished the object of their 

An open cab was moving slowly, almost 
directly under the window, with a single 
patron — a slender man, sitting rigidly erect, 
in a short, black shell jacket, open upon 
white linen, a long black tie, and a soft 
narrow scarlet sash. He wore a wide- 
brimmed stiff felt hat slanted over a thin 
countenance burned by the sun as dark as 
green bronze ; his face was as immobile as 
metal, too ; it bore, as if permanently 
moulded, an expression of excessive con- 
temptuous pride. 

Bembo's voice rose in a babble of excited 

" ' Singular ? ' Why, that's one of the 
most interesting men alive. It's Abrego y 
Mochales, the greatest bull-fighter in exist- 
ence, the Flower of Spain. I've seen him 
in the ring and at San Sebastian with the 
King ; and I can assure you that one was 
hardly more important than the other. He's 
idolized by everyone in Spain and South 
America ; women of all classes fall over each 
other with declarations and gifts." 

As if he had heard the pronouncement of 
his name the man in the cab turned sharply 
and looked up. Gheta was leaning out, and 
.his gaze fastened upon her with a sudden and 
extraordinary intensity. Lavinia saw that 
her sister, without dissembling her interest, 
sat forward, statuesque and lovely. It 
seemed to the former that the cab was an 
intolerable time passing ; she wished to draw 




Gheta back, to cover her indiscretion from 
Anna Mantegazza's prying sight. She sighed 
with inexplicable relief when she saw that 
the man had driven beyond them and that 
he did not turn. 

A bull-fighter ! A blurred picture formed 
in Lavinia's mind from the various details 
she had read and heard of the cruelty of the 
Spanish national sport — torn horses, stiff on 
blood-soaked sand ; a frenzied and savage 
populace ; and charging bulls, drenched with 
red froth. She shuddered. 

" What a brute ! " She spoke aloud, un- 

Gheta glanced 'at her out of a cool 
superiority, but Anna Mantegazza nodded 

" He would be a horrid person ! " she 
affirmed. . 

" How silly ! " Gheta responded. " It's 
an art, like the opera ; he's an artist in cour- 
age. Personally I find it rather fascinating. 
Most men are so — so mild." 

Lavinia knew that the other was thinking 
of Osare Orsi, and she agreed with her sister 
that Orsi was far too mild. Without the 
Orsi fortune — he had much more even than 
Anna Mantegazza — Cesarc would simply get 
nowhere. The Spaniard — Lavinia could not 
recall his name, although it hung elusively 
among her thoughts — was different ; women 
of all classes, Bembo had said, pursued him 
with favours. 

" You are going to the Guarinis' sale to- 
morrow afternoon ? But, of course, every- 
one is. Well, if I come across Abrego y 
Mochales before then, and I'm almost certain 
to, and he'll come, I'll bring him. He's as 
proud as the devil — duchesses, you see — so 
no airs with him. The Flower of Spain. A 

king of sporf sits high at the table " He 

went on, apparently interminable ; but 
Lavinia turned away to where tea was being 
laid in a far angle. 

Others approached over the tiled hall, and 
the Marchese Sanviano entered with Cesare 
Orsi. The window was deserted, and the 
women trailed gracefully toward the bubbling 
minor note of the alcohol lamp. Both San- 
viano and Orsi were big men — the former, 
like Bembo, wore English clothes ; but Orsi's 
ungainly body had been tightly garbed by a 
Southern military tailor, making him — 
Lavinia thought — appear absolutely ridicu- 
lous. His collar was both too tight and too 
high, although perspiration promised relief 
from the latter. 

A general and unremarkable conversation 
mingled with the faint rattle of passing cups 
and low directions to a servant. I-avinia was 
seated next to Cesare Orsi, but she was 
entirely oblivious of his heavy, kindly face 
and almost anxiously benevolent gaze. He 
spoke to her, and because she had compre- 

hended nothing of his speech she smiled at 
him with an absent and illuminating charm. 
He smiled back, happy in her apparent 
pleasure ; and his good-nature was so insist- 
ent that she was impelled to reward it with a 

She thought, she said, that Gheta was 
particularly lovely this afternoon. Heagreed 
eagerly ; and Lavinia wondered- whether she 
had been clumsy. She simply couldn't im- 
agine marrying Cesare Orsi, but she knew 
that, such a match for Gheta was freely 
discussed, and she hoped that her sister 
would not -make difficulties. 

Lavinia presently thanked him and rose ; 
the discussion about the tea table became 
unbearably stupid, no better than the flat 
chatter of the nuns at school. 

Her room was small and barely furnished, 
with a thin rug over the stone floor, and 
opened upon the court about which the 
house was built. 

Lavinia stayed for a long while at the 
ledge of her window. Her hair, which she 
wore braided in a smooth heavy rope, slid 
out and hung free. She dressed slowly, 
changing from one plain gown to another 
hardly less simple. 

Xow her hair annoyed her, swinging child- 
ishly about her waist, and she secured it 
in an instirfctively effective coil on the top 
of her head. She decided to leave it there 
for dinner. Her mother was away for the 
night; and she knew that Gheta *s sarcasm 
would only stir their father to a teasing mirth. 
Later, Gheta departed for a ball, together 
with the Marchese Sanviano — to be dropped 
at his club — and I^avinia was left alone. 
Gheta would be nominally in the charge of 
Anna Mantegazza ; but Lavinia knew how 
laxly the American would hold her responsi- 
bility. She wished, moving disconsolately 
under high painted ceilings through the semi- 
gloom of still formal chambers, that she was 
a recognized beauty — free, like Gheta. 

The drawing-room from which they had 
watched the afternoon procession was in 
complete darkness, save for the luminous 
rectangle of the window they had occupied. 
Its drapery was still disarranged. Lavinia 
crossed the room and stood at the grille. 
The lights strung along the river, curving 
away like uniform pale bubbles, cast a thin 
illumination over the Lungarno, through 
which a solitary vehicle moved. Lavinia 
idly watched it approach, but her interest 
increased as it halted directly opposite where 
she stood. A man got quickly out — a lithe 
figure with a broad-brimmed hat slanted 
across his eyes. It was, she realized with an 
involuntary quickening of her blood, Abrego 
y Mochales. A second man followed, ten- 
dered him a curiously-shaped object, and 
stood by the waiting cab while the bull- 




fighter walked deliberately forward. He 
stopped under the window and shifted the 
thing in his hands. 

A rich chord of strings vibrated through 
the night, another followed, and then a brief 
pattern of sound was woven from the -serious 
notes of a guitar. Lavinia shrank back 
within the room — it was, incredibly, a 
serenade on the stolid Lungarno. It was for 
Gheta ! The romance of the south of Spain 
had come to life under their window. A 
voice joined the instrument, melodious and 
melancholy, singing an air with little varia- 
tion, but with an insistent burden of desire. 
The voice and the guitar mingled and fluctu- 
ated, drifting up from the pavement exotic 
and moving. Lavinia could comprehend 
but kittle of the Spanish : — 

I followed through the acacias, 

But it was only the wind. 
.... looked for you beyond the limes 

The thrill at her heart deepened until 
tears wet her cheeks. It was for Gheta, but 
it overwhelmed Lavinia with a formless and 
aching emotion ; it was for Gheta, but her 
response was instant and uncontrollable. It 
seemed to Lavinia that the sheer beauty of 
life, which had moved her so sharply, had 
been magnified unbearably ; she had never 
dreamed of the possibilities of such ecstasy 
or such delectable grief. 

The song ended abruptly, with a sharp 
jarring note. The man by the carriage 
moved deferentially forward and took the 
guitar. She could see the minute pulsating 
sparks of cigarettes ; heard a direction to 
the driver. Abrego y Mochales and the 
other got into the cab and it turned and 
shambled away. Lavinia Sanviano moved 
forward mechanically, gazing after the 
dark vanishing shape on the road. She was 
shaken, almost appalled, by the feeling that 
stirred her. A momentary terror of living 
swept over her ; the thrills persisted ; her 
hands were icy cold. She had been safely 
a child until now, when she had lost that 
small security, and gained — what ? 

She studied herself, - clad in her coarse 
nightgown with narrow lace, in her inade- 
quate mirror. The colour had left her cheeks 
and her eyes shone darkly from shadows. 
" Lavinia Sanviano ! " she spoke aloud, with 
the extraordinary sensation of addressing, 
in her reflection, a stranger. She could 
never, never wear her hair down again, she 
thought with an odd pang. 

Gheta invariably took breakfast in her 
room. She was sitting in bed, the chocolate 
pot on a painted table at^ her side, when 
Lavinia entered. 

A maid was putting soft paper in the sleeves 

of Gheta's ball dress, and Lavinia, finding 
an unexpected reluctance to proceed with 
what she had come to say, watched the 
servant's deft care. 

" Mochales was here last night," Lavinia 
finally remarked, abruptly — " that is, he 
stood in the street and serenaded you." 

Gheta put her cup down with a clatter. 

" How charming ! " she exclaimed. " And 
I missed it for an insufferable affair. He 
stood under the window " 

" With a guitar/' Lavinia proceeded 
evenly. " It was very beautiful." 

" Heavens ! Bembo's going to fetch him 
to the Guarinis' sale, and I forgot and 
promised Anna Mantegazza to drive out to 
Arcetri ! But Anna won't miss this. It 
was really a very pretty compliment." 

She spoke with a trivial satisfaction that 
jarred painfully on Lavinia's memory of the 
past night. Gheta calmly accepted the 
serenade as another tribute to her beauty ; 
I-avinia could imagine what Anna Mante- 
gazza and her sister would say, and they 
both seemed commonplace — even a little 
vulgar — to her acutely sensitive being. She 
suddenly lost her desire to resemble Gheta ; 
her sister diminished in her estimation. The 
elder, Lavinia realized with an unsparing 
detachment, was enveloped in a petty \anity 
acquired in an atmosphere of continuous 
flattery ; it had chilled her heart. 

The Guarinis, who had been overtaken by 
misfortune, and whose household goods were 
being disposed of at public sale, occupied a 
large gloomy floor on the Via Cavour. The 
rooms were crowded. The sale was pro- 
gressing in one of the larger salons, but 
the crowd circulated in a slow, solid un- 
dulation through every room. Gheta and 
Anna Mantegazza had sought the familiar 
comfortable corner of an entresol, and 
were seated. Lavinia was standing tensely, 
with a labouring breast, when Bembo sud- 
denly appeared with the man whom he 
had called the Flower of Spain. 

" The Contessa Mantegazza," Bembo said, 
suavely; " Signorina Sanviano, this is Abrego 
y Mochales." 

•The bull-fighter bowed with magnificent 
flexibility. A hot resentment possessed 
Lavinia at Bembo's apparent ignoring of her ; 
but he had not seen her at first and hastened 
to repair his omission. Lavinia inclined her 
head stiffly. An increasing confusion en- 
veloped her, but she forced herself to gaze 
directly into Mochales' still, black eyes. His 
face, she saw, was gaunt, the ridges of his 
skull apparent under the bronzed skin. His 
hair, worn in a queue, was pinned in a flat 
disc on his head, and small gold loops had 
been riveted in his ears ; but these peculi- 
arities of garb were lost in the man's intense 
virilitv, his patent brute force. His fine 




her giddy The man absolutely summed 

up all that Lavinia had dreamed of a 

romantic and masterful personage She 

felt convinced that he had destroyed her 

life's happiness — no other man could ever 

appeal to her now; none other could 

satisfy the tumult lie had 

aroused in her. This, idie 

told herself, desperately 

miserable, was love. 

Gheta spoke of her, for 

the three turned to 

regard her. She 

met their 


perfumed linen, the touch of scarlet at his 
waist, his extremely high- heeled patent* 
leather boots under soft uncreased trousers, 
served only to emphasize his resolute metal 
— they resembled an embroidered and tas- 
seled scabbard that held a keen, thin, and 
1 1 an gerous bla * I e r 

Anna Mantegazza extended her hand in 
the American fashion, and Gheta smiled from 
— Lavinia saw — her best facial angle. The 
Spaniard regarded Gheta Sanviano so fixedly 
that after a moment she turned, in a species 
of constraint, to Anna- The latter spoke 
ivith her customary facility and the man 
responded gravely. 

They stood a little aside from I ovinia ; 
she only partly heard their remarks, but she 
saw that Abrego y Moc hales* attention newt 
atraved from her sister. Vicariously it mad* 

scrutiny with a doubtful half smile, which 
vanished as Anna Mantegazza made a tight 
comment upon her hair being so newly up. 
I^avinia detested the latter with a sudden and 
absurd intensity. She saw Anna, with a veiled 
glance at Gheta, make an apology and leave 
to join an eddy of familiars that had formed 
in the human stream sweeping by, i foe hales 
stood very close to her sister, speaking seri- 
ously, while Gheta nervously fingered the 
short veil hanging from her gav straw hat, 

A familiar kindly voice sounded suddenly 
in I^a vinta's ears, and Cesare Orsi joined her, 
He was about to move forward inward 
(rheta ; but, before he could attract her 
attention, she disappeared in the crowd with 
the Spaniard. m 

M Who was it .? " he inquired. " He re- 

mbles a ji^WJWl 





Lavinia elaborately masked her hot resent- 
ment at this fresh stupidity. She must not, 
she felt, allow Orsi to discover her feeling for 
Abrego y Mochales ; that was a secret she 
must keep for ever from the profane world. 
She would die, perhaps at a terribly advanced 
age, with it locked in her heart. But if 
Gheta married him she would go into a 

" A bull-fighter, I believe," she said, care- 

" In other words, a brute," Orsi continued. 

Such men are not fit for the society of— 
of your sister. One would think his mere 
presence would make her ill. Yet she 
seemed quite pleased." 

" Strange ! " Lavinia spoke with innocent 

It was like turning a knife in her wound to 
agree apparently with Cesare Orsi — rather, 
she wanted to laugh at him coldly arid leave 
him standing alone ; but she must cultivate 
her defences. There was, too, a sort of 
negative pleasure in misleading the banker, 
a sort of torment not unlike that enjoyed by 
the early martyrs. 

Cesare Orsi regarded her with new interest 
and approbation. 

" You're a sensible girl," he proclaimed ; 
" and extremely pretty in the bargain." 
He added this in an accent of profound sur- 
prise, as if she had suddenly grown present- 
able under his eyes. " In some ways/' he 
went on, gathering conviction, " you are as 
handsome as Gheta." 

" Thank you, Signor Orsi," Lavinia re- 
sponded with every indication of a modesty 
which, in fact, was the indifference of a 
supreme contempt. 

" I have been blind," he asseverated, 
vivaciously gesticulating with his thick 

Lavinia studied him with a remote young 
brutality, from his fluffy disarranged hair, 
adhering to his wet brow, to his extrava- 
gantly pointed shoes. The ridiculous coral 
charm hanging from his heavy watch-chain, a 
violent green handkerchief, an insufferable 
cameo pin — all contributed pleasurably to the 
lowering of her opinion of him. 

" I must find Gheta," she pronounced, 
suddenly aware of her isolation with Cesare 
Orsi in the crowd, and of curious glances. 
Orsi immediately took her arm, but she 
eluded him. " Go first, please ; we can get 
through sooner that way." 

They progressed from room to room, 
thoroughly exploring the dense throng about 
the auctioneer, but without finding either 
Gheta, Anna Mantegazza, or the bull-fighter. 

" I can't think how she could have for- 
gotten me ! " Lavinia declared with in- 
creasing annoyance. " It's clear that they 
have all gone." 

. 5 uk iiized by \jOOSIC 

" Don't agitate yourself," Cesare Orsi 
begged. " Sanviano will be absolutely con- 
tented to have, you in my care. I am 
delighted. You shall go home directly in 
my carriage." He conducted her, with a 
show of form that in anyone else or at another 
time she would have enjoyed hugely, to the 
street, where he handed her into an im- 
maculately-glossy and corded victoria, drawn 
by a big stamping bay, and stood with his 
hat off until she had rolled away. 

They swept smoothly on rubber tyres into 
the Lungarno and rapidly approached her 
home. The carriage stopped before the 
familiar white fa?ade, built of marble in 
the pseudo-severity of the early nineteenth 
century, and the porter swung open the 
great iron gate to the courtyard. Lavinia 
mounted the Square white shaft of the stairs 
to the Sanvianos' floor with a deepening 
sense of injury. She would make it plain to 
Gheta that she was no longer a child to be 
casually overlooked. 

A small room, used in connection with the 
dining-room for coffee and smoking, gave 
directly on the hall ; there she saw her father 
sitting, with his hat still on, his face stamped 
with an almost comical dismay, and holding 
an unlighted cigar. 

" Gheta left me atthe Guarinis'," Lavinia 
halted impetuously. " If it hadn't been for 
Signor Orsi I shouldn't be here yet ; I was 
completely ignored." 

" Heavens ! " her father exclaimed, waving 
her away. " Another feminine catastrophe ! 
Go to your sister and mother. My head is in 
a whirl." 

Her mother, then, had returned. She 
went forward and was suddenly startled by 
hearing Gheta's voice rise in a wail of de- 
spairing misery. She hurried forward to her 
sister's room. Gheta, fully dressed, was 
prostrate, face down, upon her bed, shaken 
by a strangled sobbing that at intervals rose 
to a thin hysterical scream. The Marchesa 
Sanviano, still in her travelling-dress and 
close-fitting black hat, sat by her elder 
daughter's side, trying vainly to calm the 
tumult.* In the background the maid, her 
face streaming with sympathetic tears, was 
hovering distractedly with a jar of volatile 
salts. ^ 

" Mamma," Lavinia demanded, torn by 
extravagant fears, " what has happened ? " 

The marchesa momentarily turned a con- 
cerned countenance. 

" Your sister," she said, seriously, " has 
found some wrinkles on her forehead." 

Lavinia with difficulty restrained a sharp 
giggle. Gheta's grief and their mother's 
anxiety at first seemed so foolishly dis- 
proportionate to their cause. Then a real- 
ization of what such an occurrence meant to 
Gheta dawned upon her. To an acknow- 




ledged beauty like Gheta Sanviano the marks 
of Time were an absolute tragedy ; they 
threatened her on every plane of her being. 

*' But when " Lavinia began. 

" They — Anna Mantegazza and she — went 
to the dressing-room at the Guarinis', where, 
it seems, Anna discovered them — sympa- 
thetically, of course/' 

Gheta's sobbing slowly subsided under the 
marchesa's urgent plea that unrestrained 
emotion would only deepen her trouble. 
She did not appear at dinner ; and afterward 
the marchese, his wife, and Lavinia sat 
wrapped in a gloomy silence. The marchesa 
was still handsome, in spite of increasing 
weight. The grey gaze inherited by Lavinia 
had escaped the parent ; her eyes were soft 
and dense, like brown velvet. She was a 
woman of decision, and now she brought her 
hands smartly together. 

" We have waited too long with Gheta ; 
we should not have counted so confidently 
on her beauty ; time flies so treacherously. 
She must marry as soon as possible/ 1 

" Thank God, there's Cesare Orsi ! " her 
husband responded. 

Lavinia was gazing inward at the secretly- 
enshrined image of the Flower of Spain. 

Gheta Sanviano often passed a night at the 
Mantegazzas' villa on the Height of Castena, 
a long mile from the city. 

Lavinia, too, knew the dwelling well, for 
Sanviano and Pier Mantegazza had been 
intimate from their similar beginnings, and 
she had played there as a .child. However, 
she had never been regularly asked with 
Gheta ; and when that occurred — Gheta 
indifferently delivered Anna Mantegazza's 
message — and hefr mother acquiesced, La- 
vinia had a renewed sense of her growing 

She went out early, in the heat of midday, 
a time that fitted best with the involved 
schedule of the Sanvianos' single equipage — 
Anna would take her sister directly from a 
luncheon at the Ginoris*. Lavinia looked 
with mingled anticipation and relifif at the 
approaching graceful fa9ade of the otherwise 
sombre abode of the Mantegazzas which 
stood on an eminence, circled by austere 
pines. Within it was pleasanfly cool and 
dark after the white blaze without. 

Pier Mantegazza was standing before a 
high inclined table, which bore a number of 
blackened and shapeless medallions. He 
was a famous numismatic — a tall, stooping 
man, slightly lame, and enveloped in a 
premature grey ill-health that resembled 
clinging cobwebs. He bent and brushed 
Lavinia 's forehead with his crisp moustache, 
and then returned to the delicate manipula- 
tion of a magnifving glass and a small blue 


bottle of acid. She left him for a deep chair 
and a surprising French romance by Remy 
de Gourmont. At a long philosophical dia- 
logue the book drooped, and she thought of 
Anna Mantegazza and her husband. 

She wondered whether they were happy. 
But she decided, measuring that condition 
solely by her own requirement, that such a 
state was impossible for them. It had cer- 
tainly been a marriage for money and 
position ; prior to the ceremony the Casa 
Mantegazza had been closed for years, and 
-Pier Mantegazza occupied a small establish- 
ment near the Military Hospital, on the Via 
San Gallo. ' Anna Cane had arrived in Rome, 
without family or credentials, and unknown 
to the American Embassy other than by 
amazing deposits at the best banks. But 
she did have, in addition to this, a pungent 
charm and undeniable force and good taste. 
It was said that the moment she had seen 
Mantegazza's villa she had decided to possess 
it, even at the price of its sere, withdrawn 

She had gone at once into the best Floren- 
tine and Roman society. That was ten 
years before, but Lavinia realized that she 
had never successfully assimilated the Italian 
social formula. She mixed the most diverse 
elements of their world wilfully and found 
enjoyment in bringing about amusing situa- 
tions. She seemed devoid of the foundations 
of proper caution ; in fact, she mocked at 
them openly. And if she had not been a 
model Catholic, and herself above the slightest 
moral question, even Mantegazza could not 
have carried her among her own circles. As 
it was, people flocked to her elaborate parties, 
torn between the hope of being amazed and 
the fear that they should furnish the hub of 
the occasion. 

Gheta and her hostess arrived later. The 
former, it appeared to Lavinia, looked dis- 
concerted ; and it was evident that she had 
been remonstrating with Anna Mantegazza. 
The other laughed provokingly. 

" Nonsense ! " she declared. " It was too 
good to miss ; besides, you're an old cam- 

A stair of flagging, turning sharply round 
a stone pillar, led incongruously from the light 
French furnishings to the chamber where 
Lavinia was to sleep. A Renaissance bed, 
made of thick quilting directly upon the floor, 
was covered with gilt ecclesiastical em- 
broidery ; and a movable tub stood in a 
stone corner. The narrow deep windows 
overlooked Florence, a sombre expanse of 
roofing ; and, coming rapidly toward the 
villa, Lavinia could see a tall dog-cart, with 
a groom and two passengers. They were 
men ; and, as they drew nearer, Lavinia — 
with a sudden pounding of her heart — realized 
the cause of the slight friction between the 




two women. The cart bore Cesare Orsi and 
Mochales the bull-fighter, the Flower of 
Spain. It was a part of Anna Mantegazza's 
humour that the men, so essentially antag- 
onistic, should arrive together clinging pre- 
cariously on the high, insecure trap. 

Tea was served at five on the terrace, and 
Lavinia dressed with minute care. Gheta, 
she knew, had brought a new lavender lawn 
with little gold velvet buttons and lace ; 
while she had nothing but the familiar coarse 
white mull. But she had fresh ribbons, and 
she gazed with satisfaction at her firm, 
faintly rosy countenance. She would have 
no wrinkles for years to come. However, 
she thought, with a return to her sense of 
tragic gloom, such considerations were of 
little moment, as Abrego y Mochales would 
scarcely be aware of her existence ; he would 
never know. Perhaps, years after 

She purposely delayed her appearance on 
the terrace until the others had assembled, 
and then quietly took possession of a chair. 
Cesare Orsi greeted her with effusive warmth ; 
the Spaniard bowed ceremoniously. 

Lavinia luxuriated in her unhappiness. 
Mochales, she decided, must be the handsom- 
est man in existence. His unchanging gravity 
fascinated her — the man's face, his voice, 
his dignified gestures, were all steeped in a 
splendid melancholy. 

" I am a peasant," he said, apparently 
addressing them all, but with his eyes upon 
Gheta, " from Estremadura, in the mountains. 
The life there was very hard, and that was 
unfortunate for me ; the food was scarce, and 
that was good too. If I ate like the grandees 
a bull would end me in the hot sun of the 
first fiesta ; I'd double up like a pancake. I 
must work all the time — run for miles and 
play peloid." 

Lavinia was possessed by a new contempt 
for her kind, which she centred upon Orsi, 
clumsy and stupidly smiling. It was clear 
that he couldn't run a mile ; in fact, he ad- 
mitted that he detested all exercise. How 
absurd he looked in his tight plaited jacket ! 
It appeared that he was always perspiring ; 
a crime, she felt sure — with entire disregard 
of its fatal consequences — that Mochales 
never committed. 

" A friend of ours — it was Bembo — said 
that he saw you at San Sebastian with your 
King," Anna Mantegazza put in. 

" Why not ? But Alfonso is a fine boy ; 
he understands the business of Royalty. 
Every year I dedicate a magnificent bull to 
the King on his name day." 

" Will you dedicate one to me ? " Gheta 
asked, carelessly. 

" The best in Andalusia," he responded, 
with fire. 

Cesare Orsi made a slight sharp exclama- 
tion, and Lavinia's heart beat painfully. 

The former turned to her with sudden deter- 

" Were you comfortable in my carriage," 
he demanded, " and fetched home at a smart 
pace ? " 

Lavinia thanked him. 

" You are always so quiet," he complained. 
'•I'm certain there's a great deal in that wise 
young head worth hearing." 

" Lavinia is still in the schoolroom/' 
Gheta explained, brutally. "Yesterday she 
put up her hair ; to-day Anna Mantegazza 
invites her, and we have an effect," 

Anna Mantegazza turned to the younger 
with a new veiled scrutiny. Her gaze rested 
for an instant on Orsi and then moved con- 
templatively to Gheta and Abrego y Mochales. 
It was evident that her thoughts were very 
busy ; a faint sparkle appeared in her eyes, 
a fresh vivacity animated her manner. Sud- 
denly she included Lavinia in her remarks ; 
she put queries to the girl patently intended 
to draw her out. Gheta grew uneasy and 
then cross. 

"I'm sick of sitting here," she declared ; 
" let's walk about. It's cooler, and Pier 
Mantegazza's place is always worth investi- 
gation." She rose and waited for Cesare 
Orsi, then led the small procession from under 
the striped tea kiosk down the terrace. The 
way grew steep and she rested a hand on 
Orsi's arm. Anna, Lavinia, and the. Flower 
of Spain followed together, until the first 
moved forward to join the leaders. La- 
vinia's gaze was obscured by a sort of warm 
mist ; she clasped her hands to keep them 
from trembling. In a narrow flagged turn 
Mochales brushed her shoulder. He scarcely 
moved his eyes from Gheta's back. Once he 
gazed sombrely at the girl beside him, and she 
responded with a pale, questioning smile. 

" I have had a great misfortune," he told 

" Oh, I'm terribly, terribly sorry ! '' 

" I've lost a blessed coin that interceded 
for me since the first day I went in the bull 
ring. I'd give a thousand wax candles for 
its return. Now — when I need everything," 
he continued as if to himself. " Your sister 
is beautiful," he added abruptly. 

" Everybody thinks so," Lavinia replied in 
a voice she endeavoured to make enthusiastic. 
" She has had tens of admirers here and at 
Rome and Lucca." There she knew she 
should stop ; but she continued : " Cesare 
Orsi is very persistent and tremendously rich." 

Mochales made a short, unintelligible re- 
mark in Spanish. He twisted a cigarette 
with lightning-like rapidity and only one 
hand. Together they looked at Orsi's broad, 
ungainly back, and the bull-fighter's lips 
tightened, exposing a glimmer of his im- 
maculate teeth. 

They passed a neat whitewashed cottage, 




where an old couple stood bowing abjectly, 
and came on a series of long, pale- brown 
buildings and walls. 

" The stables and barn," Lavinia explained. 

Anna Mantegazza turned. 

" You may see something of interest here," 
she called to Mochales. 

A series of steps, made by projecting' 
stones, rose to the top of an eight-foot wall 
up which Anna unexpectedly led the way. 
The wall was broad, afforded a comfortable 
footing, and enclosed a straw-littered yard. 
A number of doors led into a barn, and into 
one some men were urging refractory cattle. 
In a corner a small, compact bull, with the 
rapierlike horns of the mountain breeds, was 
secured by a nose ring and a short chain ; 
and to the latter the men turned when the 
other animals had been confined. Two 
threatened the animal with long poles, while 
a third unfastened the chain from the wall 
and then all endeavoured to drive him with- 
in. Abrego y Mochales stood easily above, 
watching these clumsy efforts. 

Suddenly the bull stopped, plunged his 
front hoofs into the soft mould of the stable 
yard, and swept his head from side to side 
with a broken, hoarse bellow. The men 
prodded him, with urgent cries ; but the bull 
suddenly whirled, snapping the poles, and 
there was an immediate scattering. 

The sight of the retreating forms appar- 
ently enraged the animal, for he charged 
with astonishing speed and barely missed 
horning the last man to fall over the barri- 
cade of a half door. Mochales smiled ; he 
called familiarly to the bull. Then he stooped 
and vaulted Lightly down into the yard. 
Lavinia gave a short exclamation ; she was 
cold with fear. Orsi looked on without any 
emotion visible on his heavy face. Anna 
Mantegazza leaned forward, tense with 
interest. " Bravo I " she called. 

Ghe£a Sanviano smiled. 

The bull did not see Mochales at first, then 
the man cried tauntingly. The bull turned 
and stood with a lowered, slowly-moving 
head, an uneasy tail. The Spaniard found 
a small milking-stool and, carrying it to the 
middle of the yard, sat and comfortably 
rolled another cigarette. He was searching 
for a match when the bull moved forward 
a pace ; he had found and was striking it 
when the bull increased his pace ; he was 
guarding the flame about the cigarette's end 
when the animal broke into a charging run. 

The Flower of Spain inhaled a deep breath 
of smoke, which he expelled in deliberate 

" Oh, don't ! Oh " Lavina exclaimed, 

an arm before her eyes. 

Mochales shifted easily from his seat, and 
apparently in the same instant the bull 
crushed the stool to splinters. 

" Bravo ! Bravo ! " Anna Mantegazza 
called again, and the man bowed until his 
extended hat rested on the ground. 

He straightened slowly ; the bull whirled 
about and flung himself forward. Abrego 
y Mochales now had one of the discarded 
poles ; and, waiting until the horns had 
almost encircled him, he vaulted lightly and 
beautifully over the running animal's shoulder, 
He waited again, avoiding the infuriated 
charge by a scant step ; and, when the bull 
stopped, he had Mochales' hat placed squarely 
upon his horns. 

Lavinia watched now in fascinated terror ; 
she could not remove her gaze from the slim 
figure in the short black jacket and narrow 
crimson sash. At the moment when her 
tension relaxed, Mochales, with a short run- 
ning step, vaulted cleanly to the top of the 
wall. His cigarette was still burning. She 
wanted desperately to add her praise to 
Anna Mantegazza's enthusiastic plaudits, 
Gheta's subtle smile ; but only the utmost 
banalities occurred to her. 

They descended the stone steps and slowly 
mounted toward the house. Cesare Orsi 
resolutely dropped back beside Lavinia. 

" You are really superb ! " he told her, 
in his highly-coloured Neapolitan manner. 
" Most women — Anna Mantegazza for ex- 
ample — are like children before such a show 
as that back there. Your sister, too* was 
pleased ; it appealed to her vanity, as the 
fellow intended it should. But you only 
disliked it. I could see that in your attitude. 
It was the circus — that's all." 

Lavinia gazed at him out of an unfathom- 
able contempt. She thought : What a fool 
he is ! It wasn't Abrego y Mochales' courage 
that appealed to her most, although that had 
afforded her an exquisite thrill, but his 
powerful grace, his absolute physical per- 
fection. Orsi was heated again and his tie 
had slipped up over the back of his 

She recalled the first talk she had had 
with him about Mochales and the manner in 
which she had masked her true feeling for 
the latter. 

How easy Orsi had been * 'to mislead 1 
Now she was seized by the desire to show him 
the actual state of her mind ; she wanted, 
in bitter sentences, to tell him how infinitely 
superior the Spaniard was to such fat, easy 
beings as himself. She longed to make clear 
to him exactly what it was that women ad- 
mired in men — romance and daring and splen- 
did strength. It might suit Gheta, who had 
wrinkles, to encourage such men as Cesare 
Orsi ; their wealth might appeal to cold and 
material minds, but they could never hope 
to inspire passion ; no one would ever cherish 
for them a hopeless lifelong love. 

" Do vou know/' Orsi declared, with firm 



S 9 





conviction, " you axe even handsomer than 
your sister ! " 

" Fool ! fool ! fool ! " But she could not, 
of course, say a word of what was in her 
thoughts. She met his admiring gaze with 
a blank face, conscious of how utterly her 
exterior belied and hid the actual Lavinia 
Sanviano. She felt wearily old, sophisticated. 
In her room, dressing for the evening, she 
made up her mind that she must have a black 
dinner gown — later she would wear no other 

Anna Mantegazza knocked and entered 
just as Lavinia had finished with her hair 
and was slipping into the familiar white 
dress. There had been, within the last few 
hours, a perceptible change in the former's 
attitude toward her. Lavinia realized that 
Anna Mantegazza regarded her with a new 
interest, a greater and more personal friend- 

" My dear Lavinia ! " she exclaimed, 
critically overlooking the other's prepara- 
tions. " You look very appealing — like a 
snowdrop, exactly. I should say the toilet 
for Sunday at the convent ; but no longer 
appropriate outside. Really, I must speak 
to the marchesa — parents are so slow to see 
the differences in their own family. Gheta 
has been a little over-emphasized. 

'* I wonder," she continued, with glowing 
vivacity, " if you would allow me — I assure 
you it would give me the greatest pleasure 
in the world. Your figure is a thousand 
times better than mine ; but, thank Heaven, 
I'm still slender. A little evening dress from 
Paris ! It should really do you very well. 
Will you accept it from me ? I'd like to 
give you something, Lavinia ; and it has 
never been out of its box." 

She turned and was out of the room before 
Lavinia could reply. There was no reason 
why she shouldn't take a present from Anna. 
Pier Mantegazza and her father had been 
lifelong friends, and his wife was an intimate 
of the Sanvianos. It would not, probably, 
be black. It wasn't. Anna returned, fol- 
lowed by her maid, who bore carefully over 
her arm a shimmering mass of glowing pink. 

" Now ! " Anna Mantegazza cried. " Your 
hair is very pretty, very original — but hardly 
for a dress like this. Sara ! " 

The maid moved quietly forward and 
directed an appraising gaze at Lavinia. 

" I see exactly, madame," she assured 
Anna ; and with her deft hands she took 
down Lavinia's laboriously-arranged hair. 

She drew it back from the brow apparently 
as simply as before, twisted it into a low knot 
slightly eccentric in shape, and recut a 
fringe. I^avinia's eyes seemed bluer, her 
delicate flush more elusive ; the shape of her 

face appeared changed, it was more pointed 
apd had a new wilful charm. 

"The stockings," Anna commanded. 

Dressed, Lavinia Sanviano stood curiously 
before the long mirror ; she saw a fresh 
Lavinia that was yet the old ; and she was 
absorbing her first great lesson in the magic 
of clothes. The gown Lavinia wore resem- 
bled, in all its . implications, an orchid. 
There was a whisper here of satin, a pale 
note of green, a promise of chiffon. Her 
crisp round shoulders were bare ; her finely- 
moulded arms were clouded, as it were, with 
a pink mist ; the skirt was full, incredibly 
airy ; yet every movement was draped by a 
suave flowing and swaying. 

Lavinia recognized that she had been im- 
mensely enriched in effect ; it was not a 
question of mere beauty — beauty here gave 
way to a more subtle and potent considera- 
tion. It was a potency which she instinc- 
tively shrank from probing. For a moment 
she experienced, curiously enough, a gust of 
passionate resentment, followed by a quickly- 
passing melancholy, a faint regret. 

Anna Mantegazza and the maid radiated 
with satisfaction at the result of their effort. 
The former murmured a phrase that bore 
Gheta 's name, but Lavinia caught nothing 
else. The maid said : — 

" Without a doubt, madame." 

Lavinia lingered in her room, strangely 
reluctant to go down and see her sister. She 
was embarrassed by her unusual appearance, 
and dreaded the prominence of the inevitable 
exclamations. At last she was obliged to 
proceed. The rest stood by the entrance of 
the dining-room, Anna Mantegazza was 
laughing at a puzzled expression on the good- 
natured countenance of Cesare Orsi ; Gheta 
was slowly waving a fan of gilded feathers ; 
Abrego y Mochales was standing rigid and 
sombrely handsome ; and, as usual, Pier 
Mantegazza was late. 

Gheta Sanviano turned and saw Lavinia 
approaching, and the elder's face, always 
pale, grew suddenly chalky ; it was drawn, 
and the wrinkles, carefully treated with 
paste, became visible about her eyes. Her 
hands shook a little as she took a step for- 

" WTiat does this mean, Lavinia ? " she 
demanded. " Why did I know nothing about 
that dress?" 

" I knew nothing myself until a little bit 
ago," Lavinia explained, apologetically, filled 
with a forfnless pity for Gheta. " isn't it 
pretty ? Anna Mantegazza gave it to me." 

She could see, over Gheta's shoulder, 
Cesare Orsi staring at her in idiotic surprise. 

" Don't you like it, Gheta ? " Anna asked. 

Gheta Sanviano didn't answer, but closed 
her eyes for a moment in an effort to control 
the anger that shone m them. The silence 




deepened to constraint, and then she laughed 

'* Quite a woman of fashion ! " she ob- 
served of Lavinia. " Fancy ! It's a pity that 
she must go back to the convent so soon." 

Her eyes while she was speaking were 
directed toward Anna Mantegazza and the 
resentment changed to hatred. The other 
shrugged her shoulders indifferently and 
moved toward the dining-room, catching 
Lavinia's arm in her own. 

Mantegazza entered at the soup and was 
seated on Gheta's right ; Cesare Orsi was on 
Anna's left ; and Lavinia sat between the 
two men, with Mochales opposite. What- 
ever change had taken place in her looks 
made absolutely no impression upon the 
latter ; it was clear that he saw no one be- 
sides Gheta Sanviano. 

In the candlelight his face more than ever 
resembled bronze ; his hair was dead-black ; 
above the white linen his head was like a 
superb effigy of an earlier and different race 
from the others. It was almost savage in its 
still austerity. Cesare Orsi, too, said little, 
which was extraordinary for him. If La- 
vinia had made small mark on Mochales, at 
least she had overpowered the other to a 
ludicrous degree. It seemed that he had 
never before half observed her ; he even 
muttered to himself and smiled uncertainly 
when she chanced to gaze at him. 

But what the others lacked conversa- 
tionally Anna Mantegazza more than sup- 
plied ; she was at her best, and that was 
very sparkling, touched with malice and 
understanding, and absolute independence. 
She insisted on including Lavinia in every 
issue. At first Lavinia was only confused 
by the attention pressed on her ; she re- 
treated, growing more inarticulate at every 
sally. Then she became easier ; spurred 
partly by Gheta's direct unpleasantness and 
partly by the consciousness of her becoming 
appearance, she retorted with spirit ; en- 
gaged Pier Mantegazza in a duet of verbal 
confetti. She gazed challengingly at Abrego 
y Mochales, but got no other answer than 
a grave perfunctory inclination. 

She thought of an alternative to the black 
gowns and unrelieved melancholy — she might 
become the gayest member of the gay Roman 
world, be known throughout Italy for her 
reckless exploits, her affairs and gowns, all 
the while hiding her passion for the Flower 
of Spain. It would be a vain search for for- 
getfulness, with an early death in an atmo- 
sphere of roses and champagne. Gheta was. 
gazing at her so crossly that she took a sip 
of Mantegazza's brandy ; it burned her 
throat cruelly, but she concealed the choking 
with a smile of high bravado. 

After dinner they progressed to a drawing- 
room that filled an entire end of the villa. 

Cesare Orsi sat at Lavinia's side, quickly 
finishing one long black cigar and lighting 
another ; Pier Mantegazza and Mochales 
smoked cigarettes. Anna was smoking, but 
Gheta had refused. Lavinia's feeling' for 
her sister had changed from pity "to total in- 
difference. The elder had been an over- 
bearing and thoughtless superior ; and 
now, when Lavinia felt in some subtle, 
inexplicable manner that Gheta was losing 
rank, her store of sympathy was small. 
Lavinia hoped that she would marry Orsi 
immediately and leave the field free for 

" Honestly," Orsi murmured, *' more beau- 
tiful than your " 

She stopped him with an impatient gesture, 
wondering what Mochales was saying to 
Gheta. A possibility suddenly filled her 
with dread — it was evident that the Spaniard 
was growing hourly more absorbed in Gheta, 

and the latter might Lavinia could not 

support the possibility of Abrego y Mochales 
married to her sister. But, she reassured 
herself, there was little danger of that — 
Gheta would never make a sacrifice for 
emotion ; she would be sure of the com- 
fortable material thing, and now more than 

Anna Mantegazza moved to a piano, 
which, in the obscurity, she began to play. 
The notes rose deliberate and melodious. 
Gheta Sanviano told Orsi : — 

" That's Iris. Do you remember, we 
heard it at the Pergola in the winter ? " 

" Do go over to her," Lavinia whispered. 

He rose heavily and went to Gheta's side, 
and Lavinia waited expectantly for Mochales 
to change too. The Spaniard shifted, but 
it was toward the piano, where he stood with 
the rosy reflection of his cigarette on a 
moody countenance, 
who sat beside Lavinia. 

Suddenly a step sounded behind her ; she 
turned hopefully, but it was only Cesare Orsi. 

" The others have gone outside," he told 
her, and she noticed that the piano had 

Mantegazza rose and bowed in mock 
serious formality, at which Lavinia shrugged 
an impatient shoulder and walked with Orsi 
across the room and out upon the terrace. 

Florence had sunk into a dark chasm of 
night, except for the curving double row of 
lights that marked the Lungarno and the 
indifferent illumination of a few principal 
squares. Orsi was standing very close to 
her, and she moved away ; but he followed. 

" Lavinia," he muttered, and suddenly his 
arm was about her waist. 

She leaned back, pushing with both hands 
against his chest ; but he swept her irre- 
sistibly up to him and kissed her clumsily. 
A cold rage possessed her. She stopped 


It was Pier Mantegazza 



struggling ; yet there was no need to continue 
— he released her immediately and opened a 
stammering apology. 

" I am a madman," he admitted, abjectedly 
— " a little animal that ought to be shot. I 
don't know what came over me ; my head 
was in a carnival. You must forgive or I 
shall be a maniac, I " 

She turned and walked swiftly into the 
house and mounted to her room. All the 
pleasure she had had in the evening, the new 
gown, evaporated, left her possessed by an 
utter loathing of self. Now, in the mirror, - 
she seemed hateful, the clouded chiffon and 
airy clinging satin unspeakable. Looking 
back out of the dim glass was a stranger who 
had betrayed and cheapened her. Her pure 
serenity revolted against the currents of life 
sweeping down upon her, threatening to 
inundate her. 

She unhooked her gown with trembling 
fingers and — once more in simple white — 
dropped into a deep chair, where she cried 
with short painful inspirations, her face 
pressed against her arm. Her emotion 
subsided, changed to a formless dread, and 
again to a black sense of helplessness. 
Suddenly she rose and mechanically shook 
loose her hair — footsteps were approaching. 
Her sister entered, pale and vindictive. 

" You are to be congratulated," she pro- 
ceeded, thinly ; " you made a success with 
everybody — that is, with all but Mochales. 
It was for him, wasn't it ? You were very 
clever, but you failed ridiculously." 

Lavinia made no reply. 

" I hope Mochales excuses you because 
of your greenness." 

" Youth isn't any longer your crime," 
Lavinia retorted at last. 

" That dress — it would suit Anna Mante- 
gazza ; but you looked only indecent." 

" Perhaps you're right, Gheta," Lavinia 
said, unexpectedly. "I'm going to bed now, 

Her balance, restored by sleep, was once 
more normal when she returned to the 
Lungarno. It was again late afternoon, the 
daily procession was returning from the 
Cascine. and Gheta was at the window, look- 
ing coldly down. The Marchesa Sanviano 
was knitting at prodigious speed a shapeless 
grey garment. They all turned when a 
servant entered : — 

Signor Orsi wished to see the Marchese. 

This unusual formality on the part of 
Cesare Orsi could have but one purpose, and 
Lavinia and their mother gazed significantly 
at the elder sister. 

-i The Marchese is dressing," his wife 

She drew a long breath of relief and nodded 
over her needles. Gheta raised her chin ; 
her lips bore the half-contemptuous expres- 

sion that lately had become habitual ; her 
eyes were half closed. 

Lavinia sat with her hands loose in her lap. 
She was wondering whether or hot, should 
she make a vigorous protest, they would 
send her back to the convent. The new gown 
was carefully hung in her closet. Last night 
she had been idiotic. 

The Marchese Sanviano appeared hurriedly 
and alone ; his tie was crooked and his 
expression very muchjiisturbed. His wife 
looked up, startled. ~ 

" What ! " she demanded, directly. 
" Didn't he " 

" Yes," Sanviano replied, " he did ! He 
wants to marry Lavinia." 

Lavinia half rose, with a horrified protest ; 
Gheta seemed suddenly turned to stone ; 
the knitting fell unheeded from the marchesa's 
lap. Sanviano spread out his hands help- 

" Well," he demanded, " what could I 
do ? A man with Orsi's blameless character 
and the Orsi banks ! " 

The house to which Cesare Orsi took 
Lavinia was built over the rim of a small 
steep island in the Bay of Naples, opposite 
Castellamare. It faced the city, rising in an 
amphitheatre of bright stucco and almond 
blossoms, across an expanse of glassy and 
incredibly blue water. It *w^s evening, the 
colour of sky and bay was darkening, inten- 
sified by a vaporous rosy column where the 
ascending smoke of Vesuvius held the last 
upflung glow of the vanished sun. Lavinia 
could see from her window the pale distant 
quiver of the electric lights springing up along 
the villa Nazionale. 

The dwelling itself drew a long irregular 
facade of white marble on its abrupt verdant 
screen — a series of connected pavilions, 
galleries, pergolas, belvedere, flowering walls, 
and airy chambers. There were tessellated 
remains from the time of the great pleasure- 
saturated Roman emperors, a later distinctly 
Moorish influence, quattrocento-painted 
eaves, an eighteenth-century turfed court, 
and a smoking-room with the startling 
coloured glass of the nineteenth. 

The windows of Lavinia 's room had no 
sashes ; they were composed of a double 
marble arch, supported in the centre by a 
slender twisted marble column, with Venetian 
blinds. She stood in the opening, gazing 
fixedly over the water turning into night. 
She could hear, from the room beyond, her 
husband's heavy deliberate footfalls ; and 
the sound filled her with a formless resent- 
ment. She wished to be justifiably annoyed 
by them, or him ; but there was absolutely 
no cause. Cesare Orsi's character and dis- 
position were sJike beyond reproach — trans- 




parent and heroically optimistic. Since their 
marriage she had been insolent, she had been 
both captious and continuously indifferent, 
without unsettling the determined eager 
good-nature with which he met her moods. 

During the week he went by launch into 
Naples in the interests of his banking, and* 
did not return for luncheon ; and she had 
long uninterrupted hours for the enjoyment of 
her pleasant domain. Altogether, his de- 
mands upon her 
were reasonable to 
the point of self- 
effacement- He 
laughed a great 
deal: this annoyed 
her youthful 
gravity and she 
sharply more than 
once, but he only 
leaned back and 
laughed harder. 
Then she would 
either grow coldly 
disdainful or leave 
the room, followed 
by the echo of his 
merriment. There 
was something im- 
pervious, like 
armour, in his 
excellent humour. 
Apparently she 
could not get 
through it to 
wound him as she 
would have liked, , 

and she secretly 
wondered . 

He was prodigal in life 
generosity— the stores of 
the Via Roma were pre- 
pared to empty them- 
selves at her desire, 
Cesare Orsi's wife was a 
figure of importance in 
Naples, She had been 
made welcome by the 
Neapolitan society — -lawn 
fStes had been given in 
villas under the burnished leaves of magnolias 
on the height of Vomero, The Cava here 
Nelli, Orsi's cousin and a retired colonel of 
BersagJieri, entertained lavishly at dinner on 
the terrace of Bertolini's ; she went out to 
okl houses looking through aged and riven 
pines at the sea. 

She would have enjoyed all this hugely if 
she had not been married to Qrsi ; but the 
continual reiteration of the fact that she was 
Orsi's wife filled her with an accumulating 
resentment. The implication that she had 
been exceedingly fortunate became more 


than she could bear. The consequence was 
that, as soon as it could be managed, she 
ceased going about, 

She was now at the window, immersed in a 
melancholy sense of total isolation ; the 
water stirring along the masonry below, a call 
from a shadowy fishing boat dropping down 
the bay, filled her with longing for the cheerful 
existence of the Lungarno. She had had a 
letter from Gheta that morning, the first from 

her sister since she 
had left Florence, 
brief but without 
any actual expres- 
sion of ill will. 
After all was said, 
she had brought 
Gheta a great dis- 
appointment ; if 
she had been in 
the elder's place 
probably she 
would have be- 
haved no better. 
It occurred to her 
to ask Gheta to 
Naples. At least 
then she would 
have someone 
with whom to re- 
call the pleasant 
trifles of past 
years. She would 
have liked to a*k 
Anna Mantegazza, 
too ; but this she 
knew was impos- 
sible — Gheta had 
not forgiven Anna 
f*>r her part on the 
night that had 
resulted in Orsi J s pro- 
pM^al for Lavinia. 

She wondered, more ot> 
scurelv, whether Abrego 
y Mochata was still in 
Florence. He loomed at 
the back of her thoughts, 
irresistibly up inscrutably dark and ro- 
her clumsily," man tic. It piqued her 
that he had not made 
the slightest response to her palpable admira- 
tion. But he had been tremendously stirred 
by Gheta , who was never touched by such 
emotions. A desire to see Mochales grew 
insidiously out of her speculations ; a desire 
to talk about him, hear his name. Lavinia 
deliberately shut her eyes to the fact that 
this last became her principal reason for 
wishing to see Gheta. 

She told Cesare, with a diffidence which she 
was unable to overcome, that she had 
written asking' her sister for a visit. Seem- 
ingly fcliW | tf &Rt5-l fl^ VhS^tf'^i P€"W J G .^T^« V were at 



breakfast, on the wine-red tiling of a pergola 
by the water, and he had shaken his fist, 
with a rueful curse, in the direction of Naples. 
Before him lay an open letter with an en- 
graved page heading. 

" I said," Lavinia repeated impatiently, 
" that Gheta will probably be here at the end 
of the week." 

" The sacred camels ! " Orsi exclaimed ; 
then : " Oh, Gheta— good ! " But he fell 
immediately into an angry reverie. " If I 
dared " he muttered. 

" What has stirred you up so ? " 

" It's difficult to explain to anyone not 
born in Naples. Here, you see, all is not in 
order, like Florence ; we have had a stormy 
time between brigands and secret factions 
ai\d foreign rulers ; and certain societies 
sprang up, necessary once, but now — when 
one still exists — a source of bribery and 
nuisance. This letter, for example, con- 
gratulates me on the possession of a charming 
bride ; it expresses the devotion of a hidden 
organization, but points out that in order 
to guarantee your safety in a city where 
the guards are admittedly insufficient it will 
be necessary for me to forward two thousand 
lire at once." 

" You will, of course, ignore it." 

" I shall certainly send the money at once." 

*' What a cowardly attitude ! " Lavinia 
declared, contemptuously. " You allow 
yourself to be blackmailed like a common 

Orsi laughed, his equilibrium quickly 

" I warned you that a stranger could not 
understand," he reminded her. " If the 
money weren't sent, in ten days or two weeks, 
perhaps, there would l>e a little accident on 
the Chiaja — your carriage would be run 
into ; you would be upset, confused, angry. 
There would be profuse apologies, investiga- 
tion, perhaps arrests ; but nothing would 
come of it. If the money was still held back 
something a little more serious would occur. 
Nothing really dangerous, you understand ; 
but finally the two thousand lire wouk} be 
gladly paid over and the accidents would 
mysteriously cease." 

" An outrage ! " Lavinia asserted, and 
Orsi nodded. 

" If you had an enemy," he continued, 
" you could have her gown ruined in the 
foyer of the San Carlos ; if it were a man 
he would be caught at his club with an un- 
comfortable ace in his cuff. At least, so 
I'm assured. I haven't had any reason to 
look the society up yet." He laughed pro- 
digiously. " Even murders are ascribed to 
it. Careful, Cesare, or a new valet will cut 
your throat some fine morning and your 
widow walk away with a more graceful 

" Your jokes are so stupid." Lavinia 
shrugged her shoulders. 

He laid the letter on the table's edge and 
a wandering air bore it slanting to .the floor, 
but he promptly recovered it. 

" That must go in the safe," he ended ; 
"it is well to have a slight grasp on those 

He rose ; and a few minutes later Lavinia 
saw his trim brown launch, with its awning 
and steersman in gleaming white, rushing 
through the bay toward Naples. 


The basin from v/hich the launch plied lay 
inside a sea-wall enclosing a small placid 
rectangle with a walk all about and iron 
benches. Steps at the back, guarded by 
two great Pompeiian sandstone urns, and 
pressed by a luxuriant growth, led up to 
the villa. Gheta looked curiously about as 
she stepped from the launch and went for- 
ward with her brother-in-law. Lavinia fol- 
lowed, with Gheta 's maid and a porter in 
the rear. 

Lavinia realized that her sister looked 
badly ; in the unsparing blaze of midday 
the wrinkles about her eyes were apparent, 
and they had multiplied. AJthough it was 
past the first of June, Gheta was wearing 
a linen dressof last year ; and — as her maid 
unpacked — Ckvinia saw the familiar pink 
tulle and the lavender gown with the gold 
velvet buttons. 

" Your dressmaker is very late," she 
observed, thoughtlessly. 

A slow flush spread over the other's 
countenance ; she did not reply immediately, • 
and Lavinia would have given a great deal 
to unsay her period. 

" It isn't that," Gheta finally explained ; 
" the family find that I am too expensive. 
You see, I haven't justified their hopes and 
they have been cutting down." 

Her voice was thin, metallic ; her features 
had sharpened like folded paper creased 
between the fingers. 

" It's very good here," she went on, 
dancing about her room. It was hardly 
more than a marble gallery, the peristyle 
choked with flowering bushes, camellias 
and althea and hibiscus, barely furnished, 
and filled with drifting perfumes and the 
savour of the sea. " What a shame that 
these things must be got at a price ! " 

Lavinia glanced at her sharply ; until the 
present moment that would have expressed 
her own attitude, but said by Gheta it 
seemed a little crude. It was, anyhow, 
painfully obvious, and she had no intention 
of showing Gheta the true state of her being. 

" Isn't that so of everything — worth 
having ? " she asked, adding the latter 
purely as a counter. 

eiy as a counter. 




The elder drew up her fine shoulders. 

" That's very courageous of you/' she 
admitted — " especially since everybody knew 
your opinion of Orsi. Heaven knows you 
made no effort to disguise your feeling 
to others." 

Lavinia smiled calmly ; Cesare was really 
very thoughtful, and she said so. Gheta 
replied at a sudden tangent : — 

" Mochales has been a great nuisance." 

Lavinia was gazing through an opening 
in the leaves at the sparkling blue plane of 
the bay. She made no movement, aware 
of her sister's unsparing curiosity turned 
upon her, and only said : — 

" Really ? " 

" Spaniards are so tempestuous," Gheta 
continued ; " he's been whispering a hundred 
mad schemes in my ear. He gave up an 
important engagement in Madrid rather than 
leave Florence. I have been almost stirred 
by him, he is so slender and handsome. 
Simply every woman — except perhaps me — 
is in love with him " 

" There's no danger of your loving anyone 
beside yourself." * 

" I saw him the day before I left ; told 
him where I was going. Then I had to 
beg him not to take the same train. He 
said he was going to Naples, anyhow, to 
sail from there for Spain. He will be at 
the Grand Hotel, and I gave him permission 
to see me here once." 

Lavinia revolved slowly. 

" Why not ? He turned my head round 
at least twice." She moved towards the 
door. " Ring whenever you like," she said ; 
" there are servants for everything/' 

In her room she wondered, with burning 
cheeks, when Abrego y Mochales would 
come. Her sentimental interest in him 
had waned a trifle during the past busy 
weeks ; but, in spite of that, he was the 
great romantic attachment of her life. If 
he had returned her love no whispered 
scheme would have been too mad. What 
would he think of her now ? But she knew 
instinctively that there would be no change 
in Mochales' attitude. He was in love with 
Gheta ; blind to the rest of the world. 

She sat lost in a daydream — how different 
her life would have been, married to the bull- 
fighter ! She would have become a part 
of the fierce Spanish crowds at the ring, 
travelled to South America, seen the people 
heap roses, jewels, upon her idol. 

Cesare Orsi stood in the doorway, smiling 
with oppressive good nature. 

" Lavinia," he told her. " I've done some- 
thing, and now I'm in the devil of a doubt." 
He advanced, holding a small package, 
and sat on the edge of a chair, mopping his 
brow. " You see," he began, diffidently, 
*" that is, as you must know, at first — you 

were at the convent — I thought something 
of proposing for your sister. Thank God," 
he added, vigorously, " I waited ! Well, I 
didn't ; although, to be completely honest, 
I knew that it came to be expected. I 
could see the surprise in your father's face. 
It occurred to me afterward that if I had 
brought Gheta any embarrassment I'd like 
to do something in a small way, a sort of 
acknowledgment. And to-day I saw this," 
he held out the package ; "it was pretty 
and I bought it for her at once. But now, 
when the moment arrives, I hesitate to give 
it to her. Gheta has grown so — so formal 
that I'm afraid of her," he laughed. 

Lavinia unwrapped the paper covering 
from a green . mprocco box, and, releasing 
the catch, saw a shimmering string of 
delicately pink pearls. 

" Cesare ! " she exclaimed. " How gor- 
geous ! " She lifted the necklace, letting 
it slide cool and fine through her fingers. 
" It's too good of you. This has cost 
hundreds and hundreds. I'll keep it my- 

He laughed, shaking all over ; then fell 

" Everything I have — all, all — is yours/' 
he assured her. Lavinia turned away with 
an uncomfortable feeling of falseness " What 
do you predict — will Gheta take it, under- 
stand, or will she play the frozen princess ? " 

" If I know Gheta, she'll take it," Lavinia 
promptly replied. 

Orsi presented Gheta Sanviano with the 
necklace at dinner. She took it slowly 
from its box and glanced at the diamond 

" Thank you, Cesare, immensely ! What 
a shame that pink pearls so closely resemble 
coral ! No one gives you credit for them." 

A feeling of shame for her sister's ungra- 
ciousness possessed Lavinia and mounted 
to angry resentment She had no particular 
desire to champion Cesare, but the simplicity 
and kindness of his thought demanded 
more than a superficial admission. At the 
same time she had no intention of permitting 
Gheta any display of superiority here. 

" You need only say they were from 
Cesare," she observed, coldly ; " with him, 
it is always pearls." 

Such a tide of pleasure swept over her 
husband's countenance that Lavinia bit 
her lip in annoyance. She had intended 
only to rebuke Gheta and had not calcu- 
lated the effect of her speech upon Cesare. 
She was scrupulously careful not to mislead 
the latter with regard to her feeling for him. 
She went to a rather needless extreme 
to demonstrate that she conducted herself 
from a sense of duty and propriety alone. 

Her married life, she assured herself, 
already, ,re,^mbled, tl^e Mantegazzas', whose 


9 6 


indifferent courtesy she had marked and 
wondered at. Perhaps in time, like them, 
she would grow accustomed to it ; but now 
it took all her determination to maintain 
the smallest daily amenities. It was not 
that her actual condition was unbearable, 
but only that it was so tragically removed 
from what she had imagined ; she had 
dreamed of romance, it had been embodied 
for her eager gaze — and she had married 
Cesare Orsi ! 

Gheta retuqied the necklace to its box 
and the dinner progressed in silence. The 
coffee was on when the elder sister said : — 
"I had a card from the Grand Hotel 
a while ago ; Abrego y Mochales is there." 

" And there/ 1 Orsi put in, promptly, 
•* I hope he'll stay, or sail for Spain. I 
don't want the clown about here." 

Gheta turned. 

" But you will regret that," she addressed 
Lavinia ; " you always found him so fasci- 

Lavinia's husband cleared his throat 
sharply ; he was clearly impatiently annoyed. 

" What foolishness ! " he cried. " From 
the first, I^avinia has been scarcely conscious 
of his existence." 

Lavinia avoided her sister's mocking gaze, 
disturbed and angry. 

" Certainly Signor Mochales must be 
asked here," she declared. 

" I suppose it can't be avoided," Orsi 

. It was arranged that the Spaniard should 
dine with them on the following evening, 
and Lavinia spent the intervening time in 
exploring her emotions. She recognized 
now that Gheta hated both Cesare and her- 
self, and that she would miss no opportunity 
to force an awkward or even dangerously- 
unpleasant situation upon them. Gheta 
had sharpened in being as well as in coun- 
tenance to such a degree that lavinia lost 
what natural affection for her sister she had 

This, in a way, allied her with Cesare. 
She was now able at least to survey him in 
a detached manner, with an impersonal 
comprehension of his good qualities and 
aesthetic shortcomings ; and in pointing out 
to Gheta the lavish beauty of her — Lavinia's 
• — surroundings, she engendered in herself 
a flight proprietary pride. She met Abrego 
y Mochales at the basin with a direct bright 
smile, standing firmly upon her wall. 

Against the blue water shadowed by the 
promise of dusk he was a sombre and splendid 
figure. Her heart undeniably beat faster 
and she was vexed when he turned imme- 
diately to Gheta. His greeting was intensely 
serious, his gaze so hungry that Lavinia 
looked away. It was vulgar, she told her- 
self. Cesare met them a bow and greeted 

by LiOOgle 

Mochales with a superficial heartiness. It 
was difficult for Cesare Orsi to conceal his 
opinions and feelings. The other man's 
gravity was superb. 

At dinner conversation languished. Gheta, 
in a very low dress, had a bright red scart 
about her shoulders, and was painted. 
This was so unusual that it had almost +he 
effect of a disguise ; her eyes were staring 
and brilliant, her fingers constantly fidgeting 
and creasing her napkin. Afterwards she 
walked with Mochales to the corner ot 
the belvedere, where they had all been 
sitting, and from there drifted the low con- 
tinuous murmur of her voice, briefly punc- 
tuated by a deep masculine note of interro- 
gation. Below, the water was invisible in 
the wrap of night. Naples shone like a 
pale gold net drawn about the sweep of its 
hills. A glow like a thumb-print hung over 
Vesuvius ; the hidden column of smoke 
smudged the stars. 

Lavinia grew restless and descended to 
her room, where she procured a fan. Return- 
ing, she was partly startled by a pale still 
figure in the gloom of a passage. She saw 
that it was Gheta, and spoke ; but the other 
moved away without reply and quickly 
vanished. Above, Lavinia halted at the 
strange spectacle — clearly drawn against the 
luminous depths of space— of Mochales and 
her husband rigidly facing each other. 

" I must admit," Orsi said, i(i an exas- 
perated voice, " that I don't understand. ' 

Lavinia saw that he was holding something 
in a half-extended hand. Moving closer, 
she identified the object as the necklace he 
had given Gheta. 

" What is it that you don't understand, 
Cesare ? " she asked. 

" Some infernal joke or foolishness ! " 

" It is no joke, signor," Mochales re- 
sponded ; " and it is better, perhaps, for 
your wife to leave us." • * 

Orsi turned to Lavinia. 

" He gives me back this necklace of 
Gheta's," he explained ; " he says that he 
has every right. It appears that Gheta 
is going to marry him, and he already objects 
to presents from her brother-in-law." 

' But what stuff ! " Lavinia pronounced. 

A swift surprise overtook her at Cesare s 
announcement — Gheta and Mochales to 
marry ! She was certain that the arrange- 
ment had not existed that morning. A 
fleet inchoate sorrow numbed her heart 
and fled. 

" Orsi has been only truthful enough to 
suit his own purpose," Mochales stated. 

' Signora, please " He indicated the 

descent from the belvedere. 

She moved to him, smiling appealinglv. 

" What is it all about ? " she queried. 

" Forgive me ; it is impossible to answer." 







" Cesare ? ,J She addressed her husband. 

" Why, this — this donkey hints that there 
was something improper in my present. 
It seems that I have been annoying Gheta 
by my attentions, flattering her with pearls," 
'" Did Gheta tell you that ? " Lavinia 
demanded. A growing resentment took 
possession of her, " Because if she did, 
she lied I " 

" Ah ! " Mochales whispered, sharply- 
" They're both mad." Orsi told her, " and 
should be dipped in the bay.*' 
. Never had Abrego y Mochales appeared 
handsomer ; never more like fine bronze. 
That latter fact struck her forcibly. IIL= 
face was no more mutable than a mask of 

st^^^™*^ 1 a cold t^eIno, 



" And," she went on, unpetuously, " since 
Gheta said that, I'll tdl you really about 
this necklace : Cesare gave it to her because 
he was sorry for her ; because he thought 
that perhaps he had mislecf her. He spoke 
of it to me first." 

" No, signora," tbe Spaniard responded, 
deliberately ; * ' it is not your sister who 

Cesare Orsi exclaimed angrily. He took 
a hasty step ; but Lavinia, quicker, moved 
between the two men. 

" This is impossible," she declared, " and 
must stop immediately ! It is childish ! " 

There was now a metallic ring in Mochales' 
voice that disturbed her even more than his 
words. The bull-fighter, completely immo- 
bile, seemed a little inhuman ; he was 
without a visible stir of emotion, but Orsi 
looked more puzzled and angry every moment. 

" This," he ejaculated, " in my own 
house — infamous ! " 

" Signor Mochales," Lavinia reiterated, 
" what I have told you is absolutely so. v 

" Your sister, signora, has said something 
different. She did not want to tell me, 
but I persisted — I saw that something was 
wrong — and forced it from her." 

" Enough ! " Orsi commanded. " One 
can see plainly that you have been duped ; 
some things may be overlooked. . . . You 
have talked enough." 

Mochales moved easily forward. 

" You fat fool ! " he said, in a low, 
even voice. " Do you talk to me — Abrego 
y Mochales?" 

A dark tide of passion, visible even in 
the night, flooded Orsi's countenance. 

" Leave ! " he insisted. " Or I'll have 
you flung into the bay." 9 

A deep silence followed, in which Lavinia 
could hear the stir of the water against 
the walls below. A sharp fear entered her 
heart, a new dread of the Spaniard. He 
was completely outside the circle of impulses 
which she understood and to which she 
reacted. He was not a part of her world ; 
he coldly menaced the foundations of all 
right and security. Her worship of romance 
died miserably. In a way she thought 
she was responsible for the present horrible 
situation ; it was the result of the feeling 
she had had for Mochales. Lavinia was 
certain that if Gheta had not known of it 
the Spaniard would have been quickly 
dropped by the elder. She was suddenly 
conscious of the perfume he always bore 
that, curiously, lent him a strange addi- 
tional oppression. 

" Mochales," he said, in a species of 
strained wonderment, " threatened — thrown 
into the bay ! Mochales — the Flower of 
Spain ! And by a helpless mound of fat " 

" Cesare I " Lavinia cried, in an energy 

of desperation. " Come ! Don't listen to 

Orsi released her grasp. 

" I believe you are at the Grand Hotel- ? " 
He addressed the other man. 

" Until I hear from you." 

" To-morrow " 

All the heat had apparently evaporated 
from their words ; they spoke with a per- 
functory politeness. Cesare Orsi said : — 

" I will order the launch." 

In a few minutes the palpitations of the 
steam died in the direction of Naples. 


Lavinia followed her husband to their rooms, 
where he sat smoking one of his long 
black cigars. He was pale ; his brow was 
wet and his collar wilted. She stood beside 
him and he patted her arm. 

" Everything is in order," he assured her. 

A species of blundering tenderness for him 
possessed her ; an unexpected throb of her 
being startled and robbed her of words. He 
mistook her continued silence. 

" All I have is yours," he explained ; " it 
is your right. I can see now that — that my 
money was all I had to offer you. The only 
thing of value I possess. I should have 
realized that a girl, charming like yourself, 
couldn't care for a mound of fat." 

Her tenderness rose till it choked in her 
throat, blurred what she had to say. 

" Cesare," she told him, " Gheta was 
right ; at one time I was in love with 
Mochales." He turned with a startled ex- 
clamation ; but she silenced him. " He 
was, it seemed, all that a girl might admire 
— dark and mysterious and handsome. He 
was romantic. I demanded nothing else 
then ; now something has happened that I 
don't altogether understand, but it has 
changed everything for me. Cesare, your 
money never made any difference in my 
feeling for you — it didn't before and it 

doesn't to-night " She hesitated and 

blushed painfully, awkwardly. 

The cigar fell from his hand and he rose 
eagerly, facing her. 

" Lavinia," he asked, " is it possible — do 
you mean that you care the least about me ? " 

" It must be that, Cesare, because I am 
to terribly afraid." 

Later he admitted, ruefully : — 

" But no man should resemble, as I do, a 
great oyster. I shall pay very dearly for 
my laziness." 

" You are not going to fight Mochales ! " 
she protested. " It would be insanity." 

" Insanity," he agreed, promptly* '[ Yet 
I can't permit myself to be the target for 
vile tongues A' ■ 

Lavinia abruutlv left him and hurried to 




her sister's room. The door was locked ; 
she knocked, but got no response. 

" Gheta ! " she called, low and urgently, 
11 open at once ! Your plans have gone 
dreadfully wrong. Gheta ! " she said more 
sharply into the answering silence. " Cesare 
has had a terrific argument with Mochales, 
and worse may follow. Open ! " There 
was still no answer, and suddenly she beat 
upon the door with her fists. " Liar ! " she 
cried thinly through the wood. " Liar ! 
I'll make you eat that necklace, pearl for 
pearl, sorrow for sorrow ! " 

A feeling of impotence overwhelmed her 
at the implacable stillness that succeeded 
her hysterical outburst. She stood with a 
pounding heart and clasped straining fingers. 

Abrego y Mochales could kill Cesare with- 
out the slightest shadow of a question. 
There was, she recognized, something es- 
sentially feminine in the saturnine bull- 
fighter ; his pride had been severely as- 
saulted ; and therefore he would be — in his 
own, less subtle manner — as dangerous as 
Gheta. Cesare's self-esteem, too, had been 
wounded in its most vulnerable places — he 
had been insulted before her. But, even if 
the latter refused to proceed, Mochales, she 
knew, would force an acute conclusion. 
There was nothing to l>e got from her sister, 
and she slowly returned to her chamber, 
from which she could hear Orsi's heavy 

She mechanically removed the square 
emerald that hung from a platinum thread 
about her neck, took off her rings, and pro- 
ceeded to the small iron safe where valuables 
were kept. As she swung open the door a 
sheet of paper slipped forward from an upper 
compartment. It bore a printed address — 
in the Strada San Lucia. She saw that it 
was the blackmailing letter Cesare had 
received frofn the Neapolitan secret society, 
demanding two thousand lire. She recalled 
what he had said at the time — if she had an 
enemy her gown could be spoiled in the foyer 
of the opera ; a man ruined at his club. 
Even murders were ascribed to it. 

She held the letter, gazing fixedly at the 
address, mentally repeating again and again 
the significance of its contents. She thought 

of showing it to Cesare, suggesting But 

she realized that, bound by a conventional 
honour, he would absolutely refuse to listen 
to her. 

Almost subconsciously she folded the sheet 
and hid it in her dress. Kneeling before the 
safe she procured a long red envelope. It 
contained the sum of money her father had 
given her at the wedding. It was her dot — 
a comparatively small amount, he had said 
at the time with an apologetic smile ; but it 
was absolutely, unquestionably her own. 

Digitized by Google 

This, when she locked the safe, remained 

When she had hidden the letter and 
envelope in her dressing-table Cesare stood 
in the doorway. He was still pale, but 
composed, and held himself with simple 

" Some men," he said, " are not so happy, 
even for an hour." 

A sudden passionate necessity to save him 
swept over her. 

In the morning Orsi remained at the villa, 
but he sent the launch in early with an 
urgent summons for the Cavaliere Nelli. 
Later, when he asked for Lavinia, he was told 
that she had gone to Naples ; and when the 
boat returned, Nelli — a military figure, with 
hair and moustache like yellowish white silk 
— assisted her to the wall. She was closely 
veiled against the sparkling flood of light 
and bay, and hurried directly to her room. 

There she knelt on a praying-chair before 
a small alcoved altar with tall wax tapers, 
and remained a long while. She was dis- 
turbed by a sudden ringing report below ; 
it was Cesare practising with a duelling pistol. 
Lavinia remembered, from laughing com- 
ments in Florence, that her husband was an 
atrocious shot. The sound was repeated at 
irregular intervals through an unbearably 
long morning. 

Gheta, she learned, had refused the 
morning chocolate and, with her maid, had 
collected and packed all her effects. La- 
vinia had no desire to see her. The situatioii 
now was past Gheta's mending. 

After luncheon Lavinia remained in her 
room ; Nelli departed for Naples and Cesare 
ioined her. It was evident that he was 
greatly disturbed ; but he spoke to her 
evenly. He was possessed by an impotent 
rage at his unwieldy body and clumsy hand. 
This alternated with an evident wonderment 
at the position in which he found himself 
and a great tenderness for Lavinia. 

At dusk they were in Lavinia's room, 
waiting for a message from Naples. La- 
vinia was leaning across the marble ledge of 
her window, gazing over the dim blue sweep 
of water to the distant flowering lights. She 
heard sudden footsteps and. half turning, 
saw her husband tearing open an envelope. 

" Lavinia ! " he cried. " There has been 
an accident in the lift of the Grand Hotel, 
and Mochale? — is dead ! " She hung upon 
the ledge now for support. " The attend- 
ant, a new man, started the lift too soon and 

caught Mochales " She sank down upon 

her knees in an attitude of prayer, and Cesare 
Orsi stood reverently bowed. 

" The will of God ! " he muttered. - 

A long slow shiver passed over Lavinia, 
and he bent and lifted her in his arms. • • :V 




Solutions to Last Month s Puzzles and Problems. 

It must have been 6} miles to the top of the hill. 

They would thus go np in 4 hours and corne down in 

i| hours- — ■ 

Mike's present age is ioif years, Pat's is 29.JJ years, 
and Biddy's is 24?? years. When the sty was built 
(7 A years ago) Mike was ^\, Par was 22^, and 
Biddy was 17^, In ir^} years Mike will be 22JV 
(as old ns Pat when he built the sty) t Pat will be 
41 A* and Biddy will be 36Jf, making 100 yean to- 


The ill us t ration shows the star in exact position 

The arrows indicate the moves of the two queens • 
The Black kiii£ cannot now be placed anywhere on 
the board without his being *' checkmated." 


9+7+5+3+* ^5 and ^+84-2=35. 
37 + 5 + 9 - I = 5° and 46+0+1 = 50, 


The three table* cloths + each 4ft. by 4ft., will cover a 
tabic 5ft. rin* by 5ft, tiru if kid in the manner shown. 
A, B, C, D is the table -top and 1,2, and 3 are the three 
Square cloths. Of course, portions of the cloths 2 and 
3 will (all over the edge ot the table. 


t. P toK 4 , 


i. K takes P* 
t . K to B 4 

1. K other 


2, R to K 2, dis. mate 
2. Q takes P, mate, 
2. Q to Kt 4, mate 
2. P takes R, becoming a 

Q or Kt accordingly, 



1, Q to Kt tf ; 1, P to Q 4 (a). 2. K toQ* ; a. Any. 
3, Q mates accordingly, (a) j.K 10 B file (6). ^. ft 
takes P; 2. Any. jt- Q ro Kt 4, mate, (A) 1. Other* 
a. Q takes P ; 2. Any, 3, Mates accordingly. 


Hie nineteen articles nf furniture are : — 
Chair, table, sofa, carper, mat. stool, settee, what- 
not, sideboard, fender, rug, clock* bedstead desk, 
secretaire, Chesterfield, hatstand, piano, tea-table. 

£250 for a Short Story. 


For full particulars see 
back of frontispiece. 




BLACK.— It. 



ft 1,1 

I ^ 






WHITE. — J *♦ 


In cich White is to play nod mat* in two move a. 

In the first problem there are eighteen mates* twelve of which are piven by the White queen ; this is the greatest 
number of mates the queen can give moving from the one square. In addition the White queen has command of 
eighteen squares. In the second problem the Black queen has command of twenty -seven squares : this is the 
greatest number it can command at the one time* In these respects the problems are uncommon and are good 
companions to the two given in our hit number, 

f Solu Hon s n ext man th . ) 



by Google 

Although man has made friends with 
specimens of the great majority of the inhabitants 
of the bird and animal kingdom, probably this 
is the only instance on record of a trained 
humming-bird* Sergeant Charles Ilaberkom 
and Orderly M. J. Maw, of the National Home 
for Disabled Soldiers at Sawtellc. California, 
are its owners, and they are justifiably proud of 
their unusual pet. This domesticated humming- 
bird has its home in an orange tree, but when 
meal -times come round it seeks out one of its 
masters and eats from a medicine-dropper filled 
with sugar-syrup, as shown in the accompanying 
photograph. It is a wonderful instance of what 
can be achieved by patience, and should act as 
an inducement and encouragement to others 
who make a hobby of the collecting and training 
of unique pets. 

Original from 




485.-A NEW 

I I ■ I—— L^» 


Here is a little puzzle for 
our more juvenile readers. It 
ought to be quite easy. Cut 
square into four pieces in the 
manner shown and then put 
these four pieces together so 
as to form a symmetrical 
Greek Cross. 


A generous man set aside a certain sum of money 
for equal distribution weekly to the needy of his 
acquaintance. One day he remarked, " If there are 
five fewer applicants next week, you will each receive 
two shillings more." Unfortunately, instead of there 
being fewer there were actually four more persons 
applying for the dole. " This means," he pointed out, 
I* that you will each receive one shilling less." Now, 
how much did each person receive at that last distri- 
bution ? 


Everybody to-day knows that the problem of 
squaring the circle depends on finding the ratio ot the 
diameter to the circumference. This cannot be found 

in numbers with 
exactitude, but we 
can get it near 
enough for all practi- 
cal purposes. Thus, 
ordinarily we find 
that the ratio 1 to 
3f is sufficiently 
close. If we want 
it a trifle more exact, 
we take 113 to 355; 
and so on. We all have these rough approximations 
at our fingers' ends for practical use. 

But it is equally impossible by Euclidean geometry 
to draw a straight line equal to the circumference of a 
given circle. You can roll a penny carefully on its 
edge along a straight line on a sheet of paper and get 
a pretty exact result, but such a thing as a circular 
garden bed cannot be so rolled. Now, the line above, 
when straightened out (it is tent for convenience in 
printing), is very nearly the exact length of the circum- 
ference of the accompanying circle. The horizontal 
part of the line is half the circumference. Could you 
have found it by a simple method, using only pencil, 
compasses, and ruler ? It is surprising how few people 
are acquainted with any rough and ready method oi 
attacking this little problem. 

The following ingenious example was sent to me by 
Mr. G. S. Wright :- 

Watching his play on the sand, 

Father a weary sigh. 

He screws the up in his hand, 

And tries to a passing fly. 

44 she bids to mind the kicis," 

He growls. " Such aren't for me, 

1*11 fly next year to far Cashmere : 

No peace with by the sea. 

So shall this tide of care, 

And cease to down and swear." 

The blanks can be filled in with one word or two, 
the same five letters being used in every case. 


I was given the following anagram : A BC DE 
F * * I *. The three letters indicated by asterisks were 
illegible, so I substituted for them any letters I chose 
a^3f tfien so arranged the ten letters as to form a well- 
Mctiown English word: I Mid this in two ways, one of 
Vhfcft proved to be correct. What were the two 
Words ? 


The enigma (No. 472), generally ascribed to Hallam, 
the historian, but also credited to various bishops and 
others, has brought me many letters, but for the most 
part the suggested solutions are quite unacceptable. 
It seems that the answer was given some years ago in 
the Morning Post as H A M, the fortress on a rock on 
the Somme where Louis Napoleon sat imprisoned for 
some six years, planning to escape and trying to raise 
the wind. When he became emperor, kings paid 
court to him. Ham was known to but few, but often 
passed by ships. The land of Ham was hated by the 
Gentile ; the Jew hates ham as pig. Ham slept with 
Noah in the Ark. The isle is perhaps a mile long. 
The letters H.M. stand for Her Majesty Queen Victoria. 
But this will not do. It would be Ham sits on a rock 
when Ham Is raising the wind, not Napoleon. To give 
the approximate weight of a pig's ham as 3lb. is absurd. 
And the " one night " is not explained. 

A correspondent confidently sends the answer, 
CHURCH. He says the enigma appeared in the 
Times about eighty years ago, and that the versical 
answer which he sends " usually appears alongside 
the question." I cannot give it in full, but for " my 
weight is three pounds " we are referred to Zechariah 
xi. 12, and for " my length is a mile " to Ezekiel 
xlii. 20. You are asked to believe that ** my first 
and my last are the pride of this isle " refers to 
44 Christ Church," Oxford. Hallam was a Christ 
Church man. 

The word RAVEN has been suggested to me by 
E. D. and others, and I find that this answer was given 
some years ago in print. The raven croaks before a 
storm, it was once an object of worship and is seldom 
seen. It was forbidden the Jew as food (see Leviticus 
I xi. 15). It was alone with Noah in the Ark when its 
1 mate was sent forth. It weighs about three pounds, and 
it is the name of a small South Carolina island — pre- 
sumably a mile long. " My first and my last," R.N. 
(the Royal Navy), are certainly " the pride of this 
isle." Readers can now take their choice. I think 
the large majority will favour RAVEN. < 

A few correspondents have declined to accept my 
guess of GOOD-NIGHT as the solution to No. 468, 
' wrongly attributed to Sir Walter Scott. One of these 
is amusingly contemptuous and abusive, but; cf 
course, he writes anonymously. It now turns out that 
the enigma is by \\\ Mackworth Praed; is printed in 
his cbllecfed works, and the author's own answer is — 

arshal FOCH H.C.WELLS 



When you 
have read 
this copy 
pass it on 
to a friend. 

Dri -ped, Tbe Super Leather for Sole*, 
is doable- wearing, light and flexible. 

Tbe continued high price of leather 
emphasise a its economy- lis saving, 
both of nppera and of soles, greatly 
out weighs It* slight extra cost. Insist 
on year New Footwear being Bri-ped 
Soled* for Ladies, Children and Men. 

In every ease, see the Purple Diamond 
Trade Mark every few inches on each 
sole* Wftthont it tbe leather is m 

Dri - ped Leather's Services 

No. 15. — 14 What every good repairer says." 

41 To be repaired with I be best leather ? You mean Dri ped 
Leather! Miss? And very fjor»d policy in these times of 
high prices ; you see, ihe more the price of Leal her 
advances, the more Dri p^d Leaiher saves - 
Dri-ped, the Super- Leather for Sules t Itmugh cosiing aibmit 
t>rje- fifth more, outlasts al least TWO, often THUKK. 
bt + st ordinary leather stiles ; ii i*i totally wateipm^f, 
LIGHTER, flexible, non slipping It is supplied for 
re -soling, and is also readiiy obtainable on NEW Footwear. 


Sole Proprietors ;y - 

DRI -PED, LTD. n?in 

. I f-japLTOW, Lancashire. 

■SBmaa^^^^^H ■ 1 t 1 n m »w m m su 1 



Six bridge problems, each by a different composer, were published in last month's number of "The 
Strand Magazine.' Here are the solutions: — 

No. i. — Six Cards. — By R. C. Mankovvski. 

Hand, Hearts. 
A .. 8 7 
Y .. 6 
B .. None . 
Z .. io 

Clubs. Diamonds. Spades. 
None . . None . . J io 6 4 
J 10 7 5 4 None . . None 
863 '.. J6 ..7 
None ..83 . . Q 8 5 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win four 

Z leads diamond 8, A trumps and leads a trump. If 
B discards a club, Z leads the spade queen, and then 
puts B in with a diamond. If B discards a diamond, 
Z leads the spade five, and if A passes it, B is in the 
lead. If A covers, Z holds the tenace. If B discards 
a spade, Z leads the diamond and Y makes three 
tricks in clubs. 

If A leads a small spade at the second trick, instead 
of the trump, Z wins ; but if A leads a high spade, 

Y trumps it. If A refuses to trump the first trick, 

Y trumps it, and leads the knave of clubs. (Note 
that if Z begins with the smaller diamond, A trumps it 
and B throws away the knave, discarding the spade 
on the trump lead. This defeats the solution.) 

No. 2 — Seven Cards. — By Alex. Porges. 

Hand. Hearts. Clubs. Diamonds. Spades. 
A ..J ..76 ..10 ..K74 

Y .. K3 ..543 .. None ..82 
B . . 9 ^ . . J 8 ..K85..6 
Z .. None .. K 10 ..Q63..A5 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win six 

Z starts with a small diamond, which Y trumps and 
leads the high trump, upon which Z discards the ace 
of spades. Y then leads a club and Z makes two tricks 
in that suit. Z's next lead is the losing spade, and no 
matter how A plays, Y must get in with the eight of 
spades to make the established club trick. 

No. 3. — Eight Cards. — By Prof. T. J. Wertenbaker. 

Hand. Hearts. Clubs. Diamonds. Spades. 
A . . None • • Q J 7 6 4 3 ..84 

Y ..4 ..A532 K54 .. None 

B .. None ..98 ., J 10 9 .. K 10 5 
Z ..2 ..10 ..Q86..932 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win six 

Z leads the spade nine, on which Y discards a small 
club. B wins with the ten. If B returns the spade 
five, Y trumps and leads a small diamond. Z wins 
this and leads the club. A covers with the knave, 
and Y ducks. Now if A leads a small club, Y plays 
the ace and Z discards a diamond. 

Y can now lead a small club, which Z trumps, and 
bv this tine B has been forced to unguard the diamonds 
or to throw away the top spade. 

If B leads a diamond for the second trick, Z puts on 
the queen and leads a small spade for Y to trump. 
Y then places the lead with A with a small club, 
bringing about the same situation as above. Y makes 
two diamonds, or Z makes a spade trick, according to 
B's discard. 

Digitized by \j009 Ic 

No. 4. — Seven Cards. — By R. C. Lasher. 

Hand. Hearts. Clubs. Diamonds. Spades. 
A ..75 ..K ..A9 ..J 10 

Y ..942 ,. A4 .. None . . K 5 
B ..6 .. Q J .. K 6 .. Q 6 

Z ..8 ..87 ..Q103..A 

Hearts trump. Z to lead. Y and Z to win all seven. 

Z leads a small diamond and Y trumps it. Y leads 
the spade five, which Z wins and leads another diamond, 
which Y trumps. Now when Y leads the spade king, 
Z discards a club, so that Y may lead the ace of clubs 
and follow with the four, which Z trumps, and A is 
obliged to under-trump. Y's nine of trumps is now 
good for the last trick. 

No. 5. — Eight Cards.— By H. Boardman. 

Hand. Hearts. Clubs. Diamonds. Spades* 
A ..7 ..K75..K102..5 

Y ..8 ..Q32..A976 None 

B ..3 .- J 4 .. J 8 5 .. 9 8 

Z ..94 -.3 6 .. Q 4 3 .. 6 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win hve 

There are a great many possible variations in the 
solution to this problem, but the main play will give 
the key to the situation. Z leads the spade, on which 
Y discards a small diamond. If B leads a small 
diamond, Z ducks, A plays the ten, and Y lets it take 
the trick. 

Now A*s best defence is to lead the trump, which 
Z wins with the nine, returning the four of trumps. 
The discards by A and B solve the problem. No other 
opening but the spade will solve, but the defence can 
try a number of experiments, none of which will avail, 

No. 6.— Seven Cards. — By S. C. Kinsey. 

Hand. Hearts. Clubs. Diamonds. Spades, 
A ..A4 .. K106 86 .. None 
Y • • J 9 3 ..3 2 •• None . . K 10 
B . . 10 7 5 . . J . . None ..985 

Z ..KQ8..AQ .. K ..J 

Hearts trumps. Z to lead. Y and Z to win six 

Z starts with a high trump, on which Y plays the 
nine, no matter what A does. If A passes up the trick, 
Z leads the knave of spades. If A refuses to trump, 

Y wins with the king and leads the I en, upon which Z 
discards the queen of clubs. 

If A still refuses to trump, Y leads the club, which Z 
wins, and leads a diamond. If A still has a diamond, 

Y shuts out B's trumps with the knave. 

If A wins the first trick and leads a diamend, Y 
trumps with the jack and leads the three of trumps 
through B. After the trumps are gone. Y wins a spade 
trick, and gives Z a club discard on the second round of 
spades. If A refuses to win the first trick, but wins 
the second, and then leads a diamond, Y trumps with 
the jack and leads the king of spades, giving Z the 
club discard, and then leads the three of trumps. The 
same situation is brought about if A trumps the third 









^^m ^ 


■■ ■ 












?EBRUARY, 1920. 
Vol. 59. No. 350. 








OR the twentieth time the 
Man went through the whole 
wretched business again, in 
his mind. To the casual 
diner at the Milan, he was 
just an ordinary well-groomed 
Englishman, feeding by him- 
self, and if he ate a little wearily, and there 
was a gleam of something more than sadness 
in the deepset eyes, it was not sufficiently 
noticeable to attract attention. 

" Monsieur finds everything to his satis- 
faction ? " The head waiter paused by the 
table, and the Man glanced up at him. A 
smile flickered round his mouth as the 
irony of the question struck home, and, 
almost unconsciously, his hand touched the 
letter in his coat pocket. 

"Everything, thank you," he answered, 
gravely. " Everything, Francis, except the 
whole infernal universe." 
: The head waiter shook his head sym- 

" I regret, Monsieur Lethbridge, that our 
kitchen is not large enough to keep that on 
the bill of fare." 

" Otherwise you'd cook it to a turn and 
make even it palatable," said Lethbridge, 
bitterly. "No, it's beyond you, Francois; 
and, at the moment, it looks as if it was 
beyond me. Tell 'em to bring me a half 
bottle of the same, will you ? " 

The head waiter picked up the empty 
champagne bottle, and then paused for a 
moment. Lethbridge was an old customer, 
and with Francis that was the same as 
being an old friend. For years he had come 
to the Milan, and, latterly, he had always 

VoL lix.— 8. Copyright, 1920, 

brought the Girl with him, a wonderful, 
clear - eyed, upstanding youngster, who 
seemed almost too young .for the narrow 
gold ring on her left hand. And Frah£ois, 
who had once heard him call her his Colt, 
had nodded his approval and been glad. It 
seemed an ideal marriage, and he was nothing 
if not sentimental. But to-night all was not 
well ; the Colt had been a bit tricky perhaps ; 
the. snaffle had not been quite light enough 
in the tender mouth. And so Francois 
paused, and the eyes of the two men met. 

" The younger they are, M'sieur — the more 
thoroughbred — the gentler must be the 

touch. Otherwise " He shrugged his 

shoulders, and brushed an imaginary crumb 
from the table. 

" Yes, Francois," said Lethbridge, slowly, 
" otherwise " 

" They hurt their mouths, M'sieur ; and 
that hurts those who love them. And some- 
times it's not the youngster's fault." 

The next moment he was bowing some 
new arrivals to a table, while Hugh Leth- 
bridge stared thoughtfully across the crowded 
room to where the orchestra was preparing 
to give their next selection. 

" Sometimes it's not the youngster's 
fault." He took the letter out of his pocket 
and read it through again, though every 
word of it was branded in letters of fire on 
his brain. n ■ 

" I hope this won't give you too much 




of a shock," it began, " but I can't live with 
you any more." 

" Too much of a shock ! " Dear heavens ! 
It had been like a great, stunning blow from 
which he was still dazedly trying to recover. 

" Nothing seems to count with you except 
your business and making money." Hugh's 
lips twisted into a bitter smile. " You 
grudge me every penny I spend ; and then 
refuse to let me have my own friends." 

41 Oh, Colt, Colt, how brutally untrue a 
half truth can be ! " 

" Everything has been going wrong lately, 
and so I think it's better to have a clean 
cut. There's no good you asking me to 
come back. — Doris." 

Once more Hugh Lethbridge stared across 
the room. A waiter placed the new bottle 
on the table, but he took no notice. His 
mind was busy with the past, and his un- grew cold on the plate in front 
of him. 

It was in the summer of 191 7 that Hugh 
Lethbridge, being on sick leave from France, 
met Doris Lashley for the first time. She 
was helping at the hospital where Hugh 
came to rest finally ; and having once set 
eyes on her, he made no effort to hurry his 
departure unduly. The contrast between 
talking to Doris and wallowing in the mud- 
holes of Passchendaele was very pleasant ; 
and in due course, assisted by one or two 
taxi-rides and some quiet dinners h deux, he 
proposed and was accepted. In October he 
married her ; in November he returned to 
France, after a fortnight's honeymoon spent 
in Devonshire. 

He went back to his old battalion, and 
stagnated with them through the winter. 
But the stagnation was made endurable by 
the wonder of the girl who was his : by the 
remembrance of those unforgettable days 
and nights when he had been alone with her 
in the little hotel down Dawlish way ; by 
the glory of her letters. For she was a very 
human girl, even though she was just a Colt. 
Nineteen and a half is not a very great age, 
and sometimes of a night Hugh would he 
awake listening to the rattle of a machine- 
gun down the line, and the half-forgotten 
religion of childhood would surge through 
his mind. Thirty seems old to nineteen, and 
dim, inarticulate prayers would rise to the 
great brooding Spirit above that He would 
never let this slip of a girl down. Then 
sleep would come — sleep, when a kindly 
Fate would sometimes let him dream of her ; 
dreams when she would come to him out of 
the mists, and they would stand together 
again in the little sandy cove with the red 
cliffs towering above them. She would put 
her hands on his shoulders, and shake him 
gently to and fro until, just as he was going 
to kiss her, a raucous voice would bellow 'in 

his ear, " Stand to." And the Heaven of 
imagination would change to the Hell of 
grey trenches just before the dawn. 

In March, 1918, Hugh wangled ^fortnight's 
leave. And at this point it is necessary to 
touch for a moment on that unpleasant 
essential to modern life — money. The girl 
had brought in as her contribution to the 
establishment the sum of one hundred 
pounds a year left her by her grandmother ; 
Hugh had about three hundred a year 
private means in addition to his Army pay. 
Before the war it had been in addition to 
what he was making in the City ; after the 
war it would be the same again. And, as 
everyone knows, what a man may make in 
the City depends on a variety of circum- 
stances, many of which are quite outside his 
own control. That point, however, concerns 
the future ; and for the moment it is March, 
19 1 8 — leave. Moreover, as has been said, 
the girl was just a Colt. 

For a fortnight they lived — the Man with 
his eyes wide open, but not caring — at the 
rate of five thousand a year. They blew 
two hundred of the be^t, and loved every 
minute of it. Then came the German 
offensive, and we are not concerned with the 
remainder of 19 18. Sufficient to say that in 
his wisdom — or was it his folly ? — there was 
no addition to the family when, in February, 
19 19, he was demobilized, and the story 
proper begins. 

Hugh's gratuity was just sufficient to 
supply the furniture for one room in the 
house they took near Esher. If it had been 
expended on lines of utility rather than those 
of show it would have gone farther ; but the 
stuff was chosen by Doris one afternoon 
while he was at the office, and when she 
pointed it out to him with ill-concealed 
pride at the shop, he stifled his misgivings 
and agreed that it was charming. It was ; 
so was the price. For the remainder of the 
furniture he dipped into his capital, at a 
time when he wanted every available penny 
he could lay his hands on for his business. 
He never spoke to Doris about money ; 
there were so many other things to discuss 
as the evenings lengthened and spring 
changed to early summer. They were 
intensely personal things, monotonous to a 
degree to any Philistine outsider who might 
have been privileged to hear them. But 
since they seemed to afford infinite satisfac- 
tion to the two principal performers, the 
feelings of a Philistine need not be considered. 

And then one evening a whole variety of 
little things happened together. To start with, 
Hugh had spent the afternoon going more 
carefully than usual into books and ledgers/ 
and when he had finished he lit a cigarette 
and stared a trifi? blankly at the wall oppo- 
site. There w«ls no doubt about it, business 




was rotten. Stufi which he had been promised, 
and for which heavy deposits had been paid, 
was not forthcoming. It was no fault of the 
firms he was dealing with; he knew that 
their letters of regret were real statements 
of fact. War-weariness, labour unrest, a 
hundred other * almost indefinable causes 
were at work, and the stuff simply wasn't 
there to deliver. If he liked, as they had 
failed in their contract, he could have his 
deposit back, etc., etc. So ran half-a-dozen 
letters, and Hugh turned them over on his 
desk a little bitterly. It was no good to him 
having his deposit back ; it was no good to 
him living on his capital. And there was 
no use mincing matters : as things stood he 
was making practically no income out of his 
work. It would adjust itself in time — that 
he knew. The difficulty was the immediate 
present and the next few months. What a 
pity it was he couldn't do as he would have 
done in the past — take rooms and live really 
quietly till things adjusted themselves. And 
then, with a start, he realized why he 
couldn't, and with a quick tightening of his 
jaw he rose and reached for his hat. She 
must never know — God bless her. Hang 
it, things would come right soon. 

He bought an evening paper on his way 
down, and glanced over it mechanically. 

" If," had written some brilliant con- 
tributor, " the nation at large, and indi- 
viduals in particular, will not realize, and 
that right soon, that any business or country 
whose expenditure exceeds its income must 
inevitably be ruined sooner or later " 

Hugh got no farther. He crushed the 
paper into a ball and flung it out of the 
window, muttering viciously under his breath. 

" Backed a stiff 'un ? " said his neighbour, 
svmpathetically. " I've had five in suc- 

He walked from the station a little quicker 
than usual. There was nothing for it but 
drastic economy ; and as for any idea of the 
little car' Doris was so keen on, it simply 
couldn't be done. Anyway, as the agent 
had told him over the 'phone that morning, 
there was no chance of delivery for at least 
six months. Had advised getting a second- 
hand one if urgently needed — except that, 
of course, at the present moment they were 
more expensive than new ones. But still 
one could get one at once — in fact, he had 
one. Only three-fifty. 

Hugh hung up his hat in the hall and 
stepped into the drawing-room. He could 
see Doris outside working in the garden, but 
for a moment or two he made no movement 
to join her. His eyes were fixed on the huge, 
luxurious ottoman, covered with wonderful 
fat cushions. It was undoubtedly the most 
comfortable thing he had ever sat on : it 
was made to be sat on, and nightly it was 

sat on — by both of them. It was the re- 
cipient of those intensely personal things so 
monotonous to the Philistine ; and it had 
cost, with cushions and trappings complete, 
one hundred and twenty Bradburys. 

He was still looking at it thoughtfully when 
the girl came in through the open window. 

" I want a great big kiss, ever so quick, 
please," she announced, going up to him. 
" One more. Thank you ! " 

With his hands on her shoulders he held 
her away from him, and she smiled up into 
his eyes. 

" I very nearly came and looked you up 
in your grubby old office to-day," she said, 
putting his tie straight. " And then I knew 
that I'd get on a bus going the wrong way, 
and I hadn't enough money for a taxi. I'd 
spent it all on a treat for "you." 

Almost abruptly his arms dropped to his 

" I didn't know you were coming up, 
darling," he said, pulling out his cigarette 

" Nor did I till just before I went," she 
answered. " Don't you want to know what 
the treat is ? " 

Without waiting for him to speak, .she 
went on, prodding one of his waistcoat 
buttons gently with a little pink finger, at 
each word. 

" I bought two whopping fat peaches — 
one for you and one for me. They were 
awful expensive — seven shillings and six- 
pence each. And after dinner we'll eat 
them and make a drefful mess." 

Now, I am fully aware that any and every 
male reader who may chance to arrive at 
this point will think that under similar 
circumstances he would argue thus :, " The 
peaches were bought. After all, they were 
a little thing — fifteen shillings is not a for- 
tune. Therefore, undoubtedly the thing to 
do was to take her in his arms, make much 
of her, and remark, ' You extravagant little 
bean — you'll break the firm if you go on like 
this. But I love you very much, and after 
we've made a drefful mess I'm going to talk 
to you drefful seriously,' or words to that 

My friendly male, you're quite correct. 
You appreciate the value of little things ; 
you see how vastly more important they are 
than a stagnating business or any stupid 
fears as to what may happen to the being 
you love most in the world if 

Unfortunately, Hugh was not so wise in 
his time as you. That little thing seemed 
to be so big — it's a way of little things. It 
seemed bigger than the business and the 
motor-car and the ottoman all combined. 

" My dear old thing," he said— not angrily, 
but just a little wearily — " have you no 



Then he turned and went to his own 
room, without looking back. And so he 
didn't see the look on the girl's face ; 
the look of a child that has been spoken 
to sharply and doesn't understand — the 
look of a dog that has been beaten by 
the master it adores. If he had seen it 
there was still time — but lie didn't. And 
when he came back five minutes later, 
remorseful and furious with himself, the 
girl was not there. She was upstairs, 
staring a little miserably out of the bed- 
room window, 

And that had been the beginning of 

it. Sitting there in the restaurant, 
Hugh traced everything back to 
that. Of course, there had been 
other things too. He saw them 
now clearly : a whole host of little 
stupid points which he had hardly 
thought of at the time. Business 
had not improved until — the irony 
of it — that very day, when a big 
deal had gone through successfully, and he 
had realized that the turning-point had come. 
He had hurried home to tell her, and had 
found — the letter, 

Mechanically he lit a cigarette, and once 
again his thoughts went back over the last 
few months. That wretched evening when 
she gave him a heavy bill from her dress- 
maker, with a polite intimation at the bottom 
that something on account by return would 
oblige* He had had a particularly bad day ; 
but she was his Colt, and there was no good 
being angry about it. 

" They hurt their mouths t M'sieur/' He 
ground out his cigarette savagely, " Handle 
them gently," And he had told her, when 


she mentioned her hundred a year, that she 
had already spent two in four months. It 
was true, but — what the devil had that got 
to do with it ? 

And then John Massingham. Hugh's jaw 
set as he thought of that row. There he had 
been right— absolutely right. Massingham 
was a man whose reputation %vas notorious* 
He specialised in young married women, and 
he was a very successful specialist. He was 
one of those men with lots of money, great 
personal charm, and the morals of a monkey. 
That was exactly what Hugh had said to her 
before flatly forbidding her to have anything 
to do with him. 

He rec^lkd'i aJcfeotlie sudden uplift of her 




shoulders, the straight, level look of her 

' Forbid ? " she had said. 

" Forbid," he had answered. " The man 
is an outsider of the purest water." 

And he had been right — absolutely right. 
He took out his cigarette-case again, and 
even as he did so he became rigid. Coming 
down the steps of the restaurant was the man 
himself, with Doris. 

For a few moments everything danced 
before his eyes. The blood was rushing to 
his head : tables, lights, the moving waiters, 
swam before him in a red haze. Then he shrank 
back behind the pillar in front and waited 
for them to sit down. He saw her glance 
towards the table at which they had usually 
sat — the table which he had refused to have 
that night ; then she followed Massingham 
to one which had evidently been reserved 
for him at the other end of the restaurant. 
She sat down with her back towards Hugh, 
and by leaning forward he could just see her 
neck and shoulders gleaming white through 
the bit of flame-coloured gauze she was 
wearing over her frock. 

His eyes rested on her companion, and 
for a while Hugh studied him critically and 
impartially. Faultlessly turned out, he was 
bending towards Doris with just the right 
amount of deferential admiration on his face. 
Occasionally he smiled, showing two rows of 
very white teeth, and as he talked he moved 
his hands in little gestures which were more 
foreign than English. They were well- 
shaped hands, perfectly manicured, a fact of 
which their owner was fully aware. 

After a time Massingham ceased to do the 
talking. The occasional smiles showed no 
more ; a serious look, with just a hint of 
slave-like devotion in it, showed on his face 
as he listened to Doris. Once or twice he 
shook his head thoughtfully ; once or tjvice 
he allowed his eyes to meet hers with an 
expression which required no interpretation. 

" My poor child," it said ; " my poor 
little hardly-used girl. Don't you know that 
1 love you, tenderly, devotedly ? But, of 
course, I couldn't dream of saying so. I'm 
only lust a friend." 

It was so utterly obvious to the man behind 
the pillar, that for a while he watched them 
with the same disinterested feeling that he 
would have watched a play. 

" She's telling him what a rotten life she's 
had," he reflected, cynically. " Her husband 
doesn't understand her. Massingham an- 
swers the obvious cue with a soulful look. 
If only he had been the husband in question, 
there would have been no misunderstanding. 
Perhaps not. Only a broken heart, my Colt, 
that's all." 

He looked up as Francis stopped in front 
of his table. D 

" She doesn't know I'm here, does she ? " 
asked Hugh, quietly. 

" No, M'sieur." The head waiter glanced 
a little sadly at the two heads so close 

Hugh took a piece of paper from his pocket, 
and scribbled a few wo;ds on it in pencil, 

11 I don't want her to know — 'at least, not 
yet. Would you ask the orchestra to play 
that ? " He handed the slip across the 
table. " It's important." And then, " Wait, 
Franfois ; I want to find out where she goes 
to after dinner. It's too late now for a 
theatre, and I expect she's staying at an 
hotel. Can you do that for me ? " 

The head waiter nodded in silence, and 
moved away. Very few men would have 
asked him to do such a thing ; he would 
have done it for still fewer. But this was an 
exception, and tragedy is never far off when 
the Massinghams of this world dine with 
youngsters who have run away from their 

Hugh, with an eagerness which almost 
suffocated him, waited for the first bars of che 
waltz he had asked the orchestra to play. 
The last time he had heard it, he had been 
dining at the Milan with Doris. It was their 
favourite waltz ; on every programme they 
had made a point of dancing it together. 
Would she remember ? Would it break 
through the wretched wall of misunderstand- 
ing, and carry her back to the days when it 
was just they two, and there was nothing else 
that mattered in the whole wide world ? 

The haunting melody stole gently through 
the room, and with his heart pounding madly, 
Hugh Lethbridge watched his wife. At the 
very first note she sat up abruptly, and with 
a grim triumph Hugh saw the look of sudden 
surprise on her companion's face. Then, 
very slowly, she turned and stared at their 
usual table. Her lips were parted, and to 
the man who watched so eagerly it seemed 
as if she were breathing a little quickly. 
Almost he fancied he could see a look of 
dawning wonder in her eyes, like a child 
awakening in a strange room. 

Then she turned away, and sat motionless 
till the music sobbed into silence. And 
as her companion joined in the brief perfunc- 
tory applause, Hugh's glance for a moment 
rested on Francis. The head waiter was 
smiling gently to himself. 

Five minutes later she rose, and Massing- 
ham, with a quick frown, got up with her. 
That acute judge of feminine nature was 
under no delusions as to what had happened, 
and behind the smiling mask of his face he 
cursed the orchestra individually and com- 
prehensively. Quite obviously a girl not to be 
rushed ; he had been congratulating himself 
on the progress during dinner. In 
fact, he had been distinctly hopeful that the 



fruit was ripe for the plucking that very 
night* And now that confounded tune had 
wakened memories, And memories are the 
devil with women. 

He adjusted her opera cloak, and followed 
her to the door. Things would have to be 
handled carefully in the car going back, very 

stopping at the same hotel as she was, At 
the time it had seemed to make not the 
slightest impression on her ; she had not 
even required the usual glib lie that his flat 
was being done up, 

He helped her into the car and spoke to 
the chauffeur* And a large man in a 




carefully. One false word, and the girl 
would shy like a wild thing. He was thankful 
that he had already told her quite casually 
that by an extraordinary coincidence he was 

gorgeous uniform, having given a message to 
a small page-boy, watched the big Daimler 
glide swiftly down Piccadilly. 

4i Madaraffqto&l fpOTE to the Magnificent, 




M'sieur p JJ were the words with which " 1 think you will, M K sieur, At that 

Francois roused Hugh from his reverie, a table J ' With a smile he pointed to the 

few minutes later. usual one, " I wiU order your dinner 

fc ' She remembered, Francois ; she remem- myself — for two/' 

bered that tune/' II, 

" Oui, M'sieiir — she remembered. You It had not occurred to Hugh before ; for 

must not let her forget again. Monsieur some reason or other it had not even entered 

Massingham is- 

He hesitated, and left 
his sentence unfinished. 

" Mr, Massingham U a blackguard," said 
Hugh, grimly. " And I'm a fool. So 
between us she hasn't had much of a show/' 

He rose with a short laugh, 

u Monsieur is going to the Magnificent ? u 
Francois pulled back the table. 

" I am, Francois '* — shortly. 

" Be easy, Monsieur. Be gentle. Don't 

hurt her mouth again " He bowed as 

was befitting to an old customer. " Good- 
night, Monsieur. Will you be dining 
to-morrow ? " 

That depends, man ami. Perhaps — 

his mind. And then, with a sudden crushing 
force, the tWQ names leaped at him from the 
page of the register at the Magnificent, and 
for the moment numbed him. 

(i Doris Lethbridge," and then, a dozen 
lines below^ '* John Massingham/' What a 
fool,, what a short-sighted fool, he was ! 
Good God ! did he not know Massingham r s 
reputation ? And yet, through some inex- 
plicable freak of mind, this development had 
not so much as crossed his brain. And 
there had he been sitting at his club for 
over an hour, in order to ensure seeing the* 
Colt in her room and avoid any chance of 
having N l&fl^ W^sftWrHG A N 



Dimly he realized the clerk was speaking. 

" Number seven hundred and ten, sir ; 
and since you have no luggage, we must 
ask for a deposit of a pound/' 

" I see/' said Hugh, speaking with a sort 
of deadly calmness, " that a great friend of 
mine is stopping here — Mr. Massingham. 
When — er — did he take his room ? " 

" Mr. Massingham ? " The clerk glanced 
at the book. " Some time this afternoon, 
sir. He is upstairs now ; would you like 
me to ring up his room ? " 

" No, thank you ; I won't disturb him at 
this hour." He pushed a pound note across 
the desk and turned slowly away. Half un- 
consciously he walked over to the lift and 
stepped inside. 

" Doris Lethbridge — John Massingham." 
Oh ! dear God ! 

" What number, sir ? " The lift-man was 
watching him a trifle curiously. 

" Six hundred and ninety-four," said 
Hugh, mechanically. " No — seven hundred 
and ten, I mean." 

" They are both* on the same floor," said 
the man, concealing a smile. At the 
Magnificent slight confusion as to numbers 
of rooms was not unknown. 

" Doris Lethbridge — John Massingham ! " 

The lift shot up, and still the names danced 
madly before his eyes. Every pulse in his 
body was hammering ; wave upon wave of 
emotion rose in his throat, choking him ; 
his mouth seemed parched and dry. 

" Doris Lethbridge — John Massingham ! " 

" To the right, sir, for both rooms." 

The door shut behind him and the lift 
sank rapidly out of sight. For a moment he 
stood in the long, deserted passage ; then 
slowly, almost falteringly, he walked along it. 

Six hundred and ninety. A pair of brown 
boots were outside, and Hugh stopped and 
looked at them critically. 

" An unpleasant colour," he reflected ; 
" most unpleasant." 

A passing chambermaid glanced at him 
suspiciously, but Hugh stared right through 
her. He was supremely unconscious of her 
existence ; only those two names mocked 
him wherever he looked, and the pair of un- 
pleasant brown boots. He wondered if their 
owner was equally unpleasant. 

Slowly he walked on. Six hundred and 
ninety-three — six hundred and ninety-four. 
He staggered a little, and leaned for a 
moment against the Wall. Then, very de- 
liberately, he pulled himself together and 
listened. There was no sound coming from 
the room at all. He listened for voices, but 
all was silent ; and then suddenly he heard 
the click of a cupboard door closing. 

So Doris was inside. Doris was inside — 

and Hugh took a deep breath ; then 

he knocked. 

by \j 



" Who's there ? " The Colt's voice, a little 
startled, came from the room, and Hugh's 
heart gave a great suffocating jump. His 
lips moved, but only a hoarse whisper came. 
He heard steps coming towards the door ; 
the handle turned, and the next moment he 
was looking into the Colt's eyes. 

For one second there shone in them the look 
of a great joy. Then she frowned quickly. 

" What are you dorng here ? " she de- 
manded. " I don't want to see you at all." 

He pushed past her into the room, and for 
a while the relief was so wonderful that he 
could only stand there staring at her foolishly. 
Then at last he found his voice. 

" Oh, my Colt," he whispered, brokenly, 
" thank God I've found you ! " She closed 
the door and came slowly towards him. 
" Thank God I've found you — in time ! " 
He said the last two words under his breath, 
but she heard them. 

" What do you mean by ' in time ' ? " she 
said, and her voice showed no sign of relent- 
ing. " If you think I'm going to come home 
with you, you're quite wrong. Besides:," 
she added, irrelevantly, " the last train's a 
beastly one. It stops everywhere." 

Hugh looked at her with a faint smile, and 
then sat down on the edge of the bed. 

" Colt," he said, slowly, " am I the biggest 
brute in the world ? Am I a cad, and a 
poisonous beast.? Am I, Colt ? '* 

She stared at him, a little perplexed ; then 
she shrugged her shoulders. 

" Certainly not," she answered. " You're 
merely an inconsiderate and selfish man." 

" Because," he went on, ignoring her 
remark, " if it's any gratification to you to 
know it, I should have to be everything I 
said to deserve such a punishment as you've 
given me." 

" I don't see it at all," she remarked. 
" But — as a matter of fact — if you want to 
know, I wasn't going to stay away for good, 
as I said in my letter. I was going to come 
back in a week or so." 

" What made you change your mind ? " 
he asked, quietly. 

" Something which happened to-night." 

For a moment his collar felt strangely 

" Something which recalled you as you 
used to be — not as you are now. It made 
me determine to give you another chance." 

" Ah — h ! " A great sigh of relief came 
from the man. " Was it — a piece of music ? " 

She looked at him quickly. 

" How did you know ? " 

" An arrow at a venture," he answered. 
" Was it Our Tune ? " 

" Yes— it was." 

" And where did you hear it ? " 

" At the restaurant where I was dining." 
She lit a cigarette with studied indifference. 




" The Milan. I dined there with Mr. 

Hugh nodded thoughtfully. 

* They give you good grub there, don't 
they ? I see Massingham is stopping here." 

" Is he ? " said the girl. " I believe, now 
you mention it, he did say something about 
it." She was looking away, and did not see 
the sudden penetrating glance from the man 
on the bed. And he — in that one vital 
moment — knew, and was utterly and com- 
pletely happy. His Colt was as innocent 
as a little child, and nothing else mattered on 
God's earth. Then, through the great joy 
which was singing in his brain, he heard her 
speaking again. 

" I like Mr. Massingham, Hugh. And you 
will have to understand that if I consent to 
come back to you, it will only be on the 
condition that if I want to I can go out and 
dine with him." 

It was at that moment that once again 
there came a knock on the door. 

The Colt looked up quickly, and Hugh rose. 

" In case it's a message," he whispered, 
" I'll get over here." 

He moved to a place where he could not 
be seen, and waited. On his face there was 
a grim smile as he watched her cross 
the room. In his mind there was absolute 
certainty as to who had knocked. If she 
wanted to, after this, she should dine with 
Massingham as much as she wished. 

She opened the door, and stopped in 

" Mr. Massingham ! " she gasped. " What 
on earth do you want ? " 

With a .quick movement Massingham 
stepped into the room and shut the door. 

" What do I want ? " he answered, in the 
low, vibrant tone that was generally very 
successful. " Why, you, my darling little 
girl." Engrossed in his desire he failed to 
notice Hugh, who was leaning on a chest of 
drawers watching the scene. He also failed 
to notice that the look of blank amazement 
on the Colt's face had been succeeded by one 
of outraged fury. " Give him up, little 
girl," he went on, " give him up and come to 

The next moment he staggered back, with 
a hand to his cheek. 

" You little spitfire," he snarled, and then 
quite suddenly he stood very still. For 
Hugh's voice, clear and faintly amused, was 

" Good for you, Colt. Now the other 

The saund of a second blow rang through 
the room, and Hugh laughed gently. 

" I — I " stammered Massingham. 

" There's been a mistake. I — I — must 
apologize. The wrong roorrv- 

He stood cringing by the door, staring 

fearfully at Hugh, who had left his position 
by the chest of drawers, and was standing 
in front of him. 

"You lie, you miserable hound," said 
I^ethbridge, contemptuously. " You've made 
a mistake right enough ; but it was not 
a mistake in the matter of the room. You 
deliberately planned this whole show, and 

now " he took him by the collar, " you 

can reap the reward." 

He shook Massingham, as a terrier shakes 
a rat ; then he flung him into a corner. 

" Open the door, Colt," he said, quietly, 
" and we'll throw the mess into the passage." 

The mess did not wait to be thrown ; it 
gathered unto itself legs, and departed 

" Hang it ! " said Hugh, as he closed the 
door. 0< I've nearly broken my toe on him." 

He limped to the bed, where he sat rubbing 
his foot. Just once he stole a glance at 
the Colt, who was standing rigidly by the 
mantelpiece ; then he resumed the rubbing. 
And on his face there was a faint, tender smile. 

Then the massage ceased as a pair of soft 
arms came round his neck from behind. 

" Boy ! oh boy ! " and her mouth was very 
close to his ear. " You don't think — oh ! 
tell me you don't think — that I " 

He put his hand over her mouth. 

" It's no question of thinking, my Colt, 

I know " For a while he stared at the 

face so close to his own ; then very gently 
he kissed her on the lips. " I know — I was 
at the Milan myself to-night, Colt — behind a 
pillar. I told 'em to play Our Tune." 

He stood up and smiled at her. 

" We'll manage the show better now. 
I've been worried ; I've been a. fool. I 
won't be any more. And now it's time you 
went to bed." He turned away abruptly. 
" I'll be getting off to my own room." 

But she was at the door before him, arms 
outstretched, barring the way. 

* Just wait a moment," she cried, a little 
breathlessly, " I want to telephone before — 
before you go " 

44 Telephone ! " His surprise showed on 
his face. " At this hour." 

But the Colt was already speaking. 

" Halloa ! Is that the office ? Oh ! it's 
Mrs. Lethbridge speaking. My husband has 
suddenly arrived. He has a room here, so 
could you give us a double room, in exchange 
for our two singles ? You can ? Thank 

She replaced the receiver and turned to the 

" There are a whole lot of things I don't 
understand," she said, demurely, " and it 
won't be any more expensive." 

But the Man had her in his arms. 

"My ColMgj^ ^whispered, triumphantly, 



Stories and Reflections £y 




|Y God! 
My boy, 
yo vi ought 
to be pay- 
ing me for teaching 
you, instead of ex- 
pecting me to pay 
you." In the days 
of my youth, Sir 
Henry Irving thu;s 
admonished me* He was 
right. He taught me all 
1 know, and looking back 
along the path I have 
travelled I realize how 
stupid I must have been. 
The conceit of youth, 
however, is wonderf i 1 1 p 
although » it may be an 
asset if it inspires con- 

I remember my pride 
when I was selected for 
the part of attendant to 
the messenger in u Much 
Ado About Nothing " 
the first play in which I 
appeared at the Lyceum, 
I had no words to speak , 
but I determined that 
that part should be pre- 
sented as it had never 
been presented before. 
I was not going to let 
the opportunity siip + At 
that time I prided my- 
self upon my taste in 
clothes* I had become 
a sort of incipient Beau 
Brunimell, and my ab- 
sorption in such matters 
as the cut of a coat, the 
shape of a collar, or the 
pattern of a tie irritated 
my dear, practical father 
beyond words. 

What more natural, 
therefore : than that I 
should seek to impress 
Sir Henry in particular, 
and the public in general, 
with the attire of that if 1 (VKV 

messenger. I went 

out and bought a 

feather. It was a 

wonderful feather 

— a dream of youth - 

ful vanity — and I 

stuck it in my 

hat, I went farther. 

Moustaches had a 

certain fascination 

for me* I believe other 

youths have suffered 

similarly, and so I 

painted on my upper lip 

what, to my mind, was a 

beautiful moustache. 

Alas for youthful 
dreams ! No sooner did 
Sir, Henry catch sight of 
me than he pointed a 
long, lean forefinger, and 
with that dreadful pre- 
liminary" Ha — heml" of 
his, growled, " Take out 
that boy. - J I fear I must 
have offended his artistic 
eye, as I did at another 
rehearsal when, being 
slightly out of place, he 
rapped out ; — 4 ■** - * 
" Don't stand there— 
get back, get back + - You 
are like a cabbage in the. 
foreground of a beautiful 

I have said that 1 
irritated my father with 
my foppish ideas. I did 
more than that in the 
planning of my future, 
I was a grievous disap- 
pointment to him. When 
a devoted father, with a 
successful business, seeks 
to make his son's path 
in life an easy one to 
travel, places all his 
experience at the boy's 
command, offers him 
ur harvey as opportunities of carrying 

CED I PUS HEX, ,9 n a sound commercial 

Daii v mrrav* *tndu* undertaking, and that 




boy talks of retiring to Italy 
and devoting himself to lyrical 
poetry, he may be excused if 
he calls him " a confounded 
ass ** and comes to the con- 
clusion that the boy is hope- 
lessly mad. I was such a boy, 
and can only feel thankful 
now that my father was in- 
dulgent* He saw that my 
heart was not in the work of 
designing boats and yachts. 

A visit to the theatre had 
led me to abandon the idea 
of becoming a poet. I had 
come to the conclusion that 
the stage was my forte, and I 
was so enthusiastic that my 
father was impressed by the 
fact that for the 
took an interest in 
subject. He seized 
tunity, when the late 
Gilbert came to W; 
consult him about a yacht, 
to tell him that I wanted to 
go on the stage, and asked 
Gilbert's advice. Gilbert eyed 
me critically, and finally gave 
me a letter of introduction to 
John Ryder, a famous old 
actor, who had a great vogue 
as a teacher of aspirants for 
the stage* And so my fate 
was settled. 

Love of the drama, how- 
ever, would seem to have 
been born with me. 1 have A 

distinct recollections of an 
occasion when, as a boy of 
eight or nine, I spent hours in the com- 
pilation of a five-act tragedy, in which I cast 
myself for the leading part. A rather 
pathetic footnote to the programme asked 
the audience, consisting of my parents and 
other relatives and friends, to abstain from 
laughing. They kept serious faces while 
the most sensational events occurred ori the 
improvised stage, but when I had killed off 
all the other actors and committed suicide 
myself, the final scene proved too much for 
their gravity. As everyone was killed, 
there was not an actor left to lower the 
curtain. After a pause I cam^ to life again, 
and rose from the corpse-strewn stage to let 
the curtain down, and so informed the 
audience that the performance was over. 

During my fourteen years with Sir Henry 
Irving I gained invaluable experience. But 
it was Ryder who laid the foundation. He 
was a genius as a teacher, and certainly 
one of the most interesting and remarkable 
characters in the profession. He had sup- 
ported Charles Kean, and had been leading 




ihuto. Dixtm. 

man to Mac ready. Ellen Terry made some 
of her early appearances with Ryder, whom 
she picturesquely describes as li a pugnacious 
man, an admirable actor, and in appearance 
like an old tree that has been struck by 
lightning, or a greenless barren rock/' It is 
also Miss Terry who tells a vivid little anec- 
dote which admirably illustrates Ryder's 
curious brand of humour. 

1 D'ye suppose he engaged me for my 
powers as an actor ? " Ryder used to say of 
Kean. " Not a bit of it ! He engaged me 
for my archaeological figure/' 

I know the story has become almost a 
classic, and, since Ryder's days, been attri- 
buted to other actor-managers. But Ryder 
was really the hero of the story, and I tell 
it because it illustrates, better than any 
description, the ruggedness of his character. 

He was rehearsing a play in which a 
thunderstorm was supposed to take place. 
Men were sent aloft to produce the effect of 
thunder by rolling cannon-balls over the fly- 
floor a bo ve t he s tage . R y d er was d issati sfi ed 









I'hv:.<K SUrtutcopit Co. 

with the effect produced by the thunder- 
n i b k ers 

11 No! No I No! That won 't do," he 
roared, *■ Not loud enough." 

It happened that a real and very violent 
thunder-storm was raging outside, and a loud 
crash of thunder occurred just as Ryder 
called out " Not loud enough/' Ryder 
heard the peal. It did not suit him at all, 
" Louder! Louder ! JJ he called out, angrily, 
whereupon a voice from, above shouted in an 
aggrieved tone : — 

M Beg your pardon, sir, but that was 
Gawd Almighty." 

" I cannot help that," retorted Ryder, 
with rising choler, " It may be good enough 
for God Almighty, but it's not good enough 
for John Ryder." 

Gilbert's great kindness to me in those 
early days is a very pleasant memory. I had 
made my d&ut at the Court Theatre at a 
guinea a week, playing the small part . of 
a boy in "To Parents and Guardians." 
Dressed in a Kate Green away costume, 
with a concertina-like hat, I made my 
entrance with a wild war-whoop. This was 
my first part, and I distinctly recall how the 
war-whoop died into a sort of death-rattle as 
I made my first appearance before an 
audience in a frenzy of stage fright* 

It was during the run of this piece that I 

dropped in at the Criterion one 
day to w^atch Gilbert rehearsing . 
*' Foggerty's Fairy/' a venture 
which did not succeed. I was 
not very satisfied with myself, 
and learning this, Gilbert, during 
the interval, introduced me to 
Sir Charles Wyndham, *vith the 
words : — 

" Can you give this young 
shaver any tiling ? " 

Sir Charles thought he could. 
He offered me the boy's part in 
a farce called " Betsy," which he 
was sending on tour. He offered 
£2 a week, I wanted £3, a sum 
which was ultimately agreed upon. 
Now mark the conceit and ex- 
travagance of youth. In my 
arrogant pride at having been 
engaged to play a part at an 
appreciable salary, I promptly 
put up at the best hotel in New- 
castle, where we opened, to the 
wonder and ad mi nit ion of the 
rest of the company. But the end 
of my brief splendour came with a hopeless 
crash. My salary would not meet the bill 
at the end of the week, and the manager 
had to come to my rescue by advancing 
mc another week's salary. 

I am afraid I was rather an impossible 
youth in those days. I know I was the 





despair of the stage- manager at 
the early rehearsals. In one 
part of the play I had to kiss 
the sprightly widow of the farce. 
My idea was the grave, dignified, 
respectful kiss— the k^s of the 
old school, inspired by a lofty 
passion, We tried that kiss 
several times. The charming lady 
who played the widow told me to 
give her a hug and a kiss, and get 
the scene over. But somehow, 
that kiss was a stumbling-block* 

The stage-manager almost tore 
his hair with despair J and at last 
cried to the stage, the actors, 
and to me, M Ye gods, he kisses 
her as if she were his grand- 
mother. Have you never kissed 
a chambermaid ? Do it that 
way, and let's get on,' 1 

I dreamt on that tour of brilliant 
achievements, of London managers 
wishing to see me play the part, 
and offering me innumerable en- 
gagements. Then I awoke to nasty 
realities. After five weeks the tour came to 
an end, and for eight months I had to live on 
my father's bounty, when a lucky chance 
led to an introduction to Bram Stoker, and 
I got an engagement at the Lyceum — as a 
toper. It was tragic humiliation, but was 
the best thing that could have happened to 


i'kaia, SttTwicopic Col 






tkutv SUntotfopii; Co. 

me. For fourteen years I trained and 
played with Sir Henry Irving's company, 
and accompanied it to America on four 

I have said that Irving taught me all I 
know ; that the training and experience 
I gained at the Lyceum were invaluable. I 
must confess, however, that many of the 
years i spent with the Lyceum company 
were to me a very bitter disappointment. 
Progress seemed impossible — at least it 
seemed so slow as to be almost negligible, 
and I think I should have despaired if I had 
not been able, during the last five or six 
years of my association with Irving, to go 
into the country with other members of the 
Company on what we used to call a Lyceum 
Vacation Tour, and try our wings in the big 
parts- - ■ 

This was really my salvation. It taught 
me something of the art of management, 
and gave me opportunities, and my wife, 
too, of playing big parts and putting into 
practice the splendid solid training in tech- 
nique that we had got at the Lyceum. 
Apart from this, my only happiness at this 
period of my career came from living in an 
atmosphere of concentrated devotion to the 
work in hand, and the fact that mv wife was 



MISS IN. D£ SUVA .Mrs. Martin Harvey). 

the despondency I felt at times on account 
of my disappointments. 

" The Holy Trinity, " as we were wont to 
call Irving, Bram Stoker, and M Dear Old 
Loveday/' the stage director, were autocrats 
at rehearsals. Rehearsals, in fact, were so 
frequent and regular that Sir Arthur \V, 
Pinero, when a member of the company, so 
the story goes, put up a satirical call : 
" Twelve o'clock — Mr* Arnot (the property 
master) to drive a screw into the flat, and 
principals and everyone concerned in the 
production to see him do it*" 

William Terriss, William Haviland, Frank 
Tyars, Sam Johnson, and Tom Mead were 
the popular figures of Irving's company in 
those days. Mead was a fine old figure, 
with a magnificent voice. He made a great 
reputation in lachimo, the heavy part in 
ir Cymbeline." He was also a wonderful 
ghost in " Hamlet, " and used to play Irving's 
father in " The Lyons Mail-" 

But he was very absent-minded. Indeed, 
he often rolled out his splendid words per- 
fectly when his mind was wandering. There 
is a scene in " The Lyons Mail fp in which 
the guilt of the son becomes clear to the 
father, The old man urges his son to 
commit suicide. The son protests he is not 
guilty. One night Mead spoke the father's 
lines, which many will know, with obvious 
absent-mindedness, .: JPi 

*' They have not seen you as I have seen 

you, a pistol in one hand, a dagger in the 

other, and in the other NJ Mead stopped 

with the third " other/' still absent-minded, 
but beginning to recollect himself* 

,H And in the other ? " Irving insisted 
under his breath. " And in the other — say 
it, my boy. say it- And in the other— a 

It was Loveday, however, who told me a 
story which is charmingly characteristic of 
the courage of the famous actor, and yet not 
without its pathos. Loveday relinquished 
a musical career to join Irving, and towards 
the end there were signs that he would not 
be able to go on much longer. He saw there 
might be poverty before him, or at least a 
life on a meagre income. But he did not 

" Why/' he would explain to Loveday, 
' I have lived on fifty shillings a week, ajid 
can do it again, We'll have a little cot tape 
in the country, old friend, and you shall take 
the old violin from its case and come over 
each evening and play to me." 

My association, after leaving the Lyceum, 
with Forbes Robertson in "* Hamlet " and 
Mrs. Patrick Campbell in " Pelleas and 
Melisande " was of the happiest description. 
In those days Maeterlinck and his work were 
but little known in this country. I took the 
keenest interest, however, in the part of 
Pelleas, and am proud to think that I shared 
in the success of the play, I remember how 
fascinated I was with the story l how my 
wife and I spent hours designing the dress, 
and how thrilled I was when I heard that 
Maeterlinck had come over for the dress 

After the rehearsal I left the theatre 
quietly, nervous and anxious to know what 
Maeterlinck thought, although I was con* 
vinced 1 had expressed all I had* ever read 
into Pelleas. I went straight honie to my 
rooms in Baker Street. My wife greeted 
me and breathlessly told me that Maeter- 
linck was waiting impatiently to see Pelleas. 
He had taken a cab and driven straight from 
the theatre with Alfred Sutro, who had 
suggested me for the part in the first place. 
He had been telling my wife what he thought 
about my performance. i£ Maeterlinck/' 
she said, has paid you the highest com- 
pliment one man has ever paid to another. 
He says you have stolen his soul." 

To my wife I really owe the success which 
fell to me when, following " Pelleas and 
Melisande," I entered on the management 
of the Lyceum Theatre and produced " The 
Only Way." This was in February, 1899, 
and for years we had plotted and planned 
for the day when %ve should be able to pro- 
duce the plajf. as- first conceived by her, 

We were touring America as members of 
Ir ving^'JJto'fl^I V^^MlA^ IfaAMmsiastic, very 



much in love and simmering with ambition. 
It was in those days that Mrs. Harvey saw a 
vision of a drama built on " A TaJe of Two 
Cities.*' She saw the life of the ill-fated 
Sydney Carton as a great acting opportunity 
for me when I should embark on manager- 
ship. The opportunity did not come for 
years. But in the meantime, we hugged 
our pet to our bosoms, dressed it, and cared 
for it, waiting the chance to present the 
child of our brain to tiie world, 

I despaired when, having secured the loan 
of a suburban theatre and borrowed £75 
from Mr, John Leigh, the man who had lent 
me the theatre withdrew his promise, in 
order to oblige another friend. Then £ 
heard that the Lyceum was vacant for a 
short period. In a flash I saw my chance, 
" Launch out boldly and produce * The 
Only Way' there," I said to myself. Arrange- 
ments were completed, when Irving asked me 
as a friend to abandon the idea, as the 
tribunal scene, it was thought, almost 
immediately before the Robespierre play 
which he was producing, w r ould prejudice 
his interests. 


Pkvta fJnfpr. 


I was anxious to retire, but my wife urged 
me not to do so. Finally I discussed the 
matter with Bram Stoker. " It's not a 
question of sentiment/' he said, in his blunt 
way, " it's a question of rent* We w T ant 
the rent, and begad we'll have it." And 
they did, '" The Only Way Jf was produced, 
and on the first night Irving sent me a splen- 
did message of good cheer. Can you wonder 
that I loved the man ? 

But my pen runs away with me. There 
are so many tributes one could pay to those 
who t as the years have passed, have held out 
the helping hand, spoken the encouraging 
word* There are so many good people who 
have helped me to please the public with 
such productions as "A Cigarette-Maker's 
Romance " and " The Breed of the 
Treshams " — who are helping me still in 
the profession which of all professions is 
so alluring, so fascinating, so difficult, But 
space cries 4I Halt/' and if in these few 
reminiscences I have afforded the readers 
of The Strand Magazine a little 
pleasant reading, I am pleased too. 


"Shadows on the Screen" the third of Sir A. Conan Doyle's new series 





In reality he 
time for such 

the moment when 
Fate flung Judith 
Heaton into Law- 
rence Blake's life she 
was a woman with a past and 
he was a man with a record. 
A very fine record it was, but 
filed away in the Foreign 
Office and in the minds of a 
few men. Very little could 
have been told without en- 
dangering the equilibrium of 
Asiatic thrones. Dangerous 
little exploration stunts and 
big game shooting were the 
hobbies assigned to him by 
certain members of his club 
who thought they knew him. 
could have spared but little 
frivolities as he wandered through China 
disguised as a Burman, or through Burma 
disguised as a Chinaman, gathering informa- 
tion in bazaars as a bee gathers honey in a 
garden. Of all the Eastern kingdoms he had 
■visited, only to Tibet had he paid the com- 
pliment of touring it as a Tibetan. 

41 Strong, silent man," you might think, 
but that wasn't his type ; he was imaginative 
and swayed by impish humour. Limitless 
curiosity, a rapid-fire brain, and vast belief 
in himself had carried him over the crises of 
his life. There was softie grey in his hair, 
and lines in a face illuminated by slaty-blue 
incandescent eyes which untrained observers 
considered were touched with insanity. In 
reality they merely revealed the swift 
thought-changes occurring behind them. 
Judith Heaton, trained observer of men, had 
come to that correct conclusion as she faced 
him across the restaurant table somewhere in 
Soho. Blake had chosen to dine at a restau- 
rant to escape the necessity of telling lies to a 
man at his club. 

Judith Heaton had been chosen by Lc 
Poisson Rouge and destiny. She had been 
taken to that restaurant by a man who 
wanted to force a quarrel on her for purposes 
X)f perpetual parting. The man was rich and 
powerful theatrically ; Le Poisson Rouge was 
cheap. Judith was touchy on such subjects 


Gerald l 



with the touchiness of 
women who have been 
obliged to consider, and, 
worse still, to reconsider, 
their value in the eyes of 

Destiny, in the person of 
a distracted head-waiter 
on a crowded night, took 
the lid off Judith Heaton s 
temper by putting the pair 
at a table already occupied 
by a man, and a man who 
was so lost in thought that 
he did not become aware 
of her challenging presence 
until her companion requested the salt for 
his soup. 

Having become aware of the woman's 
presence at his table, Blake paid her the 
secret compliment of a thumb-nail character- 

" Meant to be beautiful iq the right 
way/' he summarized the woman across 
the table ; " been warped by her environ- 
ment ; never was meant to look so defiant, 
pathetic, and — yes — hunted. She's been 
up against it — up against it at this 

Blake was not a ladies' man ; he had rather 
avoided women ; yet he thought a great 
deal about them in the abstract, and several 
times during his forty years of life chivalry 
had impelled him to play Providence quixotic- 
ally. The personality of the man at his table, 
who was of some Latin Semitic race, aroused 
animosity ; the fragile, dainty beauty of the 
woman and something which emanated from 
her, a symphony path6tique, as though she 
were a musical instrument strung to break- 
ing-point and played upon by remorseless 
fingers, inclined him to sympathize after a 
semi-detached fashion. 

Blake knew that the crisis approached by 
the glitters and flashes from the woman's 
blazing eyes, as he had known of the ap- 
proach of an Afghan attack by helio flashes 
from the ridge-poLer of the world. Judith 
Heaton was paying a price she could not 


afford for the pleasure of telling a man what 
she thought of him. 

The man smiled a triumphant smile* 
11 Then there is nothing more to be 
said, man amie. I accept my dis- 
missal." He sauntered out, leaving 
the woman to her tears, her humilia* 
tion, and the companionship of a 






Time had only clipped one month 
from the coupons of Judith Heaton's 




life since the episode at Le Foisson Rouge, and 
what matters a month ? As a rule, very little. 
A few cubic feet of air also mean very little, but 
compress them in a cylinder and they become 
dynamic. This month had been dynamic 
both to Judith Heat on and Lawrence Blake. 
As she waited in her little Chelsea flat for 
Blake to come and say good-bye, Judith 
re-lived every tense hour of the time which 
had elapsed since she had met him + Each one 
clicked past like pictures in a cinema play. 
She saw herself sobbing, humiliated, con- 
scious of the looks and thoughts of the in- 
habitants of Le Poisson Rouge, conscious of 
the man across the table who had been swept 
into the current of her life. From his keen, 
efficient, clean-shaven face and strange blue 
eves she had assumed he was a sailor-man 
and would make some blundering, kindly 
effort at rescue which would further compli- 
cate the situation, She had felt his impulse 
to escape, and then his swift decision to help- 
She laughed even now at the remembered 
sound of his voice, loud enough to reach the 
other tables : f[ Buck up, Madeleine I Of 
course Aunt Emily's death was a shock, and 
it's just like your solicitor to break the news 
in public ; but after all she was over eighty, 
and she did not suffer/' She had looked up 
and caught his glance, blended of impish 
humour and chivalrous admiration, and then 
everything had been suddenly all right. She 
had played up to him. The sudience had 
been convinced ; they had laughed together. 
For the first time in her insecure life she had 
felt safe with a man. The timbre of his voice 
suggested some strange chords of music 
which had always passed through her dreams, 
coming towards her from immeasurable dis- 
tances, and dying away before she could 
capture the tune. Sound had seemed to 

play a part in the first phases of their mutual 
attraction. They liad agreed never to meet 
again, so it would not matter if for one even- 
ing they voiced their thoughts, and Blake, 
speaking with the Oriental touch which 
distinguished him, had said that her laugh 
was like the sound of fairy bells outworn, 
and her tears like the dropping of dew from 
rose-leaf to rose-leaf ; familiar from all time 
and yet elusive. She had told him about 
her life and the wreckage of her ideals by a 
bigamous marriage, of her consequent vien- 
detta against men, her determination to use 
them for her own ends as one man had used 
her, She had told him of her life on the 
stage, her success in " Highbrow " drama ; 
of her career as a militant Suffragette, and 
how she had gone to prison for sinking the 
yacht of a Cabinet Minister at Cowes by 
getting on board in the character of a lady 
friend and opening the sea-cocks. But she 
had not told Blake about young EUison, wiio 
had fallen in love with her while she was 
still mad with resentment against his sex. 
She shivered now as she remembered how 
she had played upon that man's poetical 
ideas of love and life, developed them, raised 
him in her arms to the very summit of human 
experience, then laughed and pushed him 
over the precipice, She 
had smashed all that was 
good in him as a resentful 
child smashes a doll, and 
told him that the experi- 
ence was necessary to the 
part she was studying at 
the moment, would per- 
haps pur blood and nerves 
into hi> pretty poems. 
A year later he had 
sent her his book, 


m-TOl¥9FmiTO.n oMAN OF H " 



12 3 

44 Poems from the Pit," slimy but wonderful. 
Why exhibit such a skeleton to spoil the 
memory of a delicious evening, since they 
were never to meet again unless, as Blake 
had said, " Fate wills it. I am a fatalist/' 

She recalled the thrill which went through 
her when she had heard Blake's voice a week 
later in the garden of the house on the 
Thames, and found that they were fellow- 
guests. Their eyes had met across the garden 
and revealed how much they had been think- 
ing of one another, 
how they had 
bridged the years 
withthought. How 
hard they had tried 
to keep up the bar- 
riers of pretence, to 

defend themselves with laughter ! She had 
feared him because he was a man who 

L^^J^^^riginal from 




idealized women and put them on pinnacles 
where they could not breathe. He had 
feared her because he wanted to travel fast 
and alone. She smiled as she remembered 
the brevity of the effort to pass by. The 
very next day, when they had tried to hide 
from one another what they were feeling, 
laughter had suddenly failed them. How 
sweet it had been ! They had commenced 
sentences which had ended because breath 
caught in the throat. They had suddenly 
felt helpless in the grip of outside superior 
forces. There was a sound like the rush of 
wings ; she had found herself in his arms. 
Yet she had kept her head in a way ; she 
had searched, oh ! so hard, for chivalry or 
pity as Ins motive, still more for the infatua- 
tion which experience had taught her so often 
masqueraded as love, and which she could so 
easily arouse in men. But he had convinced 
her that she was the woman of his dreams, 
the one for whom he had searched and 
waited. His love had swept her up to a 
summit where she no longer feared to be 
idealized ; her love for him made her feel 
that she could be whatever he had dreamed, 
whatever he might dream a woman should 
be. At last she had come to believe that to 
be idealized was her only hope of escape from 
her past. Then, three weeks later, as they 
stood by the open window of her flat arrang- 
ing their marriage, newsboys had rushed past 
shouting " The Serajevo Assassinations ! " 
and Blake had told her that meant his instant 
departure for the East. She had declined to 
marry him before he left, and now she was 
waiting to say good-bye. 

Blake was late ; perhaps he was never 
coming, perhaps he had heard something. 
Judith was shaken, too, by a terrible night 
haunted by the ghosts of the past. Young 
Ellison had led the van, and a red-winged 
demon to whom she had given a latchkey. 
" We'll find our way in," they had taunted 
her, " when your man goes East, Your 
future is your past, the present is a mirage. 
You have neither strength nor principle, and 
your saviour man won't be here to lend you 
his ; besides, you have never told him about 
me. You dare not. 1 ' So Judith was almost 
hysterical when Lawrence Blake arrived ; 
she clung to him and begged him to stay and 
save her ; then ordered him to go and leave 
her for ever, since she was not worth saving. 
He must have understood enough to take her 
mood seriously, for he turned from her and 
plunged into seas of thought. When he 
returned to the woman he loved, where she 
sobbed on the sofa arm, he looked weary 
from intensive reflection, but there was also 
the ghost of an impish smile. He took her 
into his arms almost roughly ; he wanted her 
thoroughly under his dominion. 

" Look here," he said, " you have got to 

believe what I am going to tell you, strange 
and incredible as it may seem to you. If you 
can, it will make everything all right." 

" Oh ! I'll try, Lawrence." She nestled 
against him happily. " It's easy enough 
when it's like this." 

"I'm going to give you something that 
will make you safe when — when it's not like 
this, Judith. Something I got in Tibet." 

" An amulet ? " she hazarded, despon- 

" No. I expect you know that some of 
these Tibetan monks have carried thought 
to a point where, in our eyes, it becomes 
magic. Human wireless, that's how it seems 
to me. We play with the fringe of telepathy, 
but we are as crude in that line as they are 
in mechanics. We can't link our thoughts 
to one another's at a distance because we 
haven't developed concentration. But this 
thing I got in that pld monastery, this magic 
I am going to leave with you, will enable you 
to annihilate the idea of distance between 
you and me ; only our bodies will be distant. 
It's a mirror, and there's a drug, a sort of 
incense. When you burn it and look into 
the mirror through the smoke, you will see 
yourself exactly as I am thinking of you." 

" Idealized ? " she asked, breathlessly, 
carried away by the idea, convinced by her 
lover's earnestness. 

" Perhaps. As you live in my thoughts, 
the you God planned, the you of the past and 
the future, the vision wonderful which I have 
seen through all the dust of the earth." 

" My wonderful ! My saviour ! " she whis- 
pered, looking into the strong light of Law- 
rence Blake's eyes with eyes that were 
exalted with the strong inrush of belief. " It 
is true. I know it. All true. Give me the 
mirror and the incense and go far away, my 
darling. I long to live in your thoughts of 

Then the lovers parted, and again Judith 
Heaton had allowed Lawrence Blake to go 
without telling him about young Ellison. 

It was an octagon mirror, framed in bronze, 
which Blake sent by messenger to his 
betrothed. The bronze was so old that the 
Chinese symbols wrought into the design 
were almost indistinguishable. With it there 
was an old bronze box, full of a large-grained 
aromatic powder, and two small braziers of 
the same metal. He had extracted a promise 
from Judith that she would only make use 
of the mirror when she was too despondent, 
too much in the depths, to pull herself 
together without its help. Also, that she 
would always keep the mirror veiled. 

Judith kept her promise about not making 
use of the mirror. Blake's letters sufficed, 
and some strong magnetism which he had 




left behind him in the flat. But gradually 
her old world impinged on her loneliness. 
Men and women of her previous exotic 
existence, who knew nothing of her changed 
outlook, brought the fever of their lives 
into the hush of her life. She tried to keep 
the world at bay, but she had only a tiny 
private income, and she was driven by 
stress of war prices to return to the stage, to 
do war work, to emerge from the cloistered 
flat where she had felt safe in her -lover's 
imagined presence, reading his letters over and 
over again . He had written from Afghanistan, 
and, last, from Persia. His letters ceased 
when she needed them most, when she was 
finding it most hard to believe in herself. 
Old fevers were waking in her blood, and 
she was very, very lonely. She would look 
longingly at the mirror. Not to make use 
of it was like fighting against the desire for 
a drug. And all the time she lost faith in 
herself, in her personality. 

One evening she was of a party in which 
everyone seemed to be living in the present, 
because the future might never come. It 
was during that strange, irresponsible phase 
of the war which might be summed up in 
the words, " the laughter of London, the 
boasts of Berlin." Perhaps London laughed 
because Berlin boasted ; or did Berlin boast 
because London laughed ? Or was it the 
constant stream of young officers with money 
to spend on their feverish reprieves or 
postponements from death and wounds 
which the War Office call " leave " ? There 
were four reprieved officers in the party. 
One of them had the key to an empty house. 
They turned it into a night club and danced. 
Between the dances one of these officers 
kissed Judith— rapturously. She struck him 
fiercely, sobbed heartbrokenly, and went 

Judith examined her face in the mirror, 
not Blake's magical one, but her own. Yes, 
it was the face of a woman men kissed 
lightly, in a moment of passion. There was 
a devil behind the eyes, beckoning them 
towards the soft red lips which curved below. 
What was the use of trying to live on a 
summit with a face like that, a devil-haunted 
face ? What was the use of struggling ? 
Better to drug her nerves with imitation 
love and drown their cries in the excitement 
of the present. Lawrence had ceased writing ; 
perhaps he had never really thought of her 
except as that young officer had thought. 
She was one of God's doomed, of whom a 
Calvinist grandfather had told her as a 
child. She had an impulse to break the 
mirror and blot out her face. Then she 
suddenly remembered that other mirror. 
It was surely for such a moment as this her 
lover had left her his magic. With hands 
which shook with excitement, fear, suspense, 

she filled the braziers from the incense-box. 
She placed the bronze mirror on a table in 
her sitting-room, out of sight of that other 
mirror which had reflected that inmate she 
feared and hated, the red-winged demon to 
whom she had given the latchkey. The 
sitting-room was still faintly permeated by 
her lover's magnetism. Sitting in front pf 
the high altar of her hopes, she lit the. 
braziers. A faint fragrance as of wistaria 
blossoms drifted towards her in the tiny 
smoke- wreaths, which took, she thought, 
strange shapes like the characters on the 

Judith prayed, but it was to Lawrence 
Blake. She called aloud to her lover, and 
the vibrations of her breath played with the 
incense-wreaths and altered their cabalistic 
forms. A feeling of rest and peace came to 
her out of the fragrance of the incense-mist. 
She seemed to be drifting towards some 
Nirvana, and yet to be endowed with unusual 
powers of concentration, so that she could 
almost materialize her lover. She no longer 
feared to draw the curtain ; she was going 
to see herself through that lover's eyes. 
Her belief was implicit. She was unaware 
of the sleepy gesture with which she moved 
aside the silken veil. 

Judith clasped her hands, a rapturous 
crooning drifted from her. lips. Was this 
girl, still spangled with the dews of other 
worlds and sweet wise wonderings about 
this one — this girl with the look of dawn in 
her eyes — herself ? True, she could remember 
a time when her own mirror had revealed 
such a picture, but that was ten years ago, 
and even then she had not such beauty. 
Oh ! if this was how she seemed to Lawrence 
Blake, no wonder he loved her. Of course 
she was not as beautiful as that, but if she 
thus lived in her lover's eyes, in her lover's 
heart, why, then this beauty lived in the 
only place which mattered, and everything 
else, the man at the dance and that other 
mirror, was a bad dream. Almost in love 
with the reflection, she gazed and gazed 
into the mirror. Her mind was so concen- 
trated on her lover, so great a feeling of 
nearness pervaded her, that she seemed to 
be waiting for his face to appear in the 
mirror, his presence in the room. She willed 
it with all her power. For a moment she 
thought that his face was reflected as though 
he stood behind her, but before she could 
grasp the passing shadow a terrible feeling 
of anxiety, desolation, suffering, came down 
upon her like some impalpable fog. The 
incense-wreaths turned into sand-storms ; 
she felt as though she was cornered — in 
some place where there was weakness 
because there was no food. A vision of 
great sand-stretches, tents, camels, and 
gaunt, anxioas, suffering |igttefl waiting in an 



agony of suspense took her place in the 

Judith's next experience of consciousness 
was when she raised herself on her elbow. 
It was dawn. She lay on the floor of her 
sitting-room. The silken curtain had been 
drawn across the mirror. 

After that night Judith found it no more 
possible to resist the magic call of Blake's 
mirror. It was as though she had yielded 
to a drug and could not live without it. She 
did not always see the same face through the 
incense-wreaths — or, rather, it was the same 
face seen from different angles, and she knew 
with rapture that each mirrored vision had 
been transmuted through her lover's eyes. 
To draw aside the silken veil at night after 
wondering all the day how her lover would 
be thinking of her, and to find herself ever 
more wonderful in his sight, was more 
exquisite than to meet him in the flesh. He 
never failed her, 

It was well that she could drug herself 
with magic, for it dulled the anxiety caused 
by Blake's long silence, her ignorance of his 
whereabouts, and the dim visions which 
made a background in the mirror. Sand and 
suspense, peril and anxiety. Yet he lived ; 
however precariously, in whatever danger — 
he lived. 

Then came a night when the vision in the 
background altered. There was no longer 
the feeling of being hemmed in. Through 
the dust-storms of the incense she saw men 
on the march ; anxiety was replaced by 
humiliation, torture, and death. She suf- 
fered with her lover's suffering, but she did 
not know where he suffered. A few days 
later all England shivered with the know- 
ledge that Kut Kad fallen, but Judith did not 
connect the tragedy and the vision. She 
knew from the papers that the garrison had 
started on their martyred march to Mosul, 
five hundred miles of horror. She knew 
from the mirror that Blake was on the move, 
but she did not know the truth. She even 
thought it was a symbol that he was return- 
ing to her. 

It was about a week later that Judith 
Heaton experienced the night of horror. 
She had waited for midnight with beating 
heart as a woman waits for her lover. Would 
she be living in her lover's heart that night 
as the idealized girl of the first vision, or 
enraptured by his kisses, or alive with 
intellect ? Would it be her body, mind, or 
soul which was uppermost in her lover's 
thoughts ? As she drew aside the veil 
which parted her from herself, she hoped it 
would be her soul, she hoped 

A wailing, terrified cry shivered through 
the little sitting-room, disturbing the incense- 
wreaths. Judith had put one hand across 

her eyes as though to shut out some horror 
which could blast them. With the otlier 
hand she pushed back her chair from the 
table on which the mirror was propped. 
" No ! No ! " she seemed to implore some 
unseen being. From the way she retreated 
into a corner of the room you might have 
thought she was being pursued by some 
apparition. In a way it was an apparition, 
all the more devastating because it bore 
semblance to herself. She had not believed 
her eyes at the first glance, had thought it 
might be some trick of the incense. She had 
rubbed them and looked again, so there was 
no hope for her. There was no room for 
doubt. It was not even her. vanity which 
had been wounded ; never had the mirror 
reflected such beauty ; every physical lure, 
was accentuated. It was as though a great 
artist had tried to paint the spirit of evil in 
possession of a very exquisite woman, and 
the artist was Lawrence Blake. She was 
seeing herself through his eyes. This was 
how he was thinking of her. This beautiful 
harpy, this subtly^baited trap, this intellect 
rejoicing in the devastation of spirit, in 
evil for evil's sake, in the destruction of all 
good and human impulses. It was a cari- 
cature, the opposite pole of idealism. 
She remembered that young Ellison at part- 
ing had put into words very much of what 
the mirror had visualized. She had . only 
laughed at him then; what had she cared 
what he thought of her ? But this was 
Lawrence thinking now, the man she loved 
— the man who was her god, who had stooped 
down and saved her. 

In the background there was again the 
sense of men in torment and humiliation, 
but these men seemed to be vanishing in the 
distance ; through the dust-clouds into vast 
sand-spaces. Nearer there were two solitary 
figures: a man dressed like a Bedouin 
propping a man in tattered khaki against 
his knee, bent over him. 

For a time Judith did not dare to use the 
mirror. She had a pathetic hope that if she 
prayed very hard and worked very hard at 
the hospital doing things which she hated 
the mirror would relent, would reveal her 
as she really was, neither angel nor devil, 
merely a suffering, struggling woman. The 
reflection was less vivid and more heart- 
breaking, as though Lawrence thought of 
her as one who destroyed illusions out of 
sheer devilry, but that it mattered less. 
There was an atmosphere of great weariness. 
Again she caught a glimpse of the Bedouin. 
He rode a horse whose head swayed to its 
knees from exhaustion. He was alone. 

The reflections blurred more and more, then 
cleared up and were as the reflections in any 
other mirror Judith merely saw a broken- 







hearted woman whose beauty was dimmed 
by tragic thoughts. The mirror had lost its 
magic, only the incense kept . its strange 
fragrance, and soon the incense was finished. 

Judith was convalescent from the effects 
of a nervous breakdown when Blake made 
his sensational return to London. One 
morning she had read in the papers about 
his escape on the prisoners' death march 
from Kut to Mosul ; that evening he came 
to see her. He was changed : leaner, older, 
more sun-baked — harder. It was the face 
of a man who has lost his dearest possession 
out in a desert. It was the face of a man who 
has had illusions and lost them. Judith had 
seen it before in one man's face — young 
Ellison's. Judith saw the difference at once 
in his over-expressive eyes ; pictures of 
horror on which he had gazed were barely 
hid behind them and a great disillusionment 
was there, the ghosts of dead dreams, the 
shadow of suffering. The strange incandes- 
cent quality which bad first drawn her 
attention to Blake was more marked than 

Judith rose from the sofa and moved 
uncertainly ; her natural impulse was to fling 
herself into his arms. She loved him, and 
they were engaged to be married. The 
mirror might have reflected hallucinations, 
his letters might have miscarried. Yet some- 
thing in Blake's attitude made her pause 
and fiddle with some flowers on a table half- 
way. He did not speak, he seemed to be 
groping in her very soul for the truth, tearing 
her to pieces in the search. The great love- 
light in her eyes seemed only to puzzle the 

" Why don't you speak to me ? What is 
the matter ? Why do you look at me like 
that ? " Judith had not wanted to be the 
first to break the silence, but the words were 
forced from her in little gasps. 

" So much has happened," he answered, 
sadly. "It was a chance in a thousand, my 
meeting poor Ellison ; at least, your being 
the woman to whom I was to deliver the 
letters. There's nearly always some woman 
to whom a dying man sends a message, but 
that it should have been you ! I wouldn't 
have let him tell me the story, which made 
me feel — well, feel as I felt about the woman 
who broke him. Perhaps I wouldn't have 
judged the woman as hard, had I known 
about whom the poor chap was talking. 
Besides, I couldn't have listened. But you 
look so white — poor little Judith." There 
was a great concern in his voice. " If it was 
my room, not yours, I'd ask you to sit down." 

Judith collapsed into a chair. Blake went 
on quickly, as though he wanted to rush a 
terrible situation to its end. 

" I don't think Ellison himself realized 

that by giving me the packet to take to you 
he was revealing the woman's identity, but 
when a man has been flogged along a dusty 
road without food or water till even a Turk 
can't get another yard out of him, his brain 
works in patches. Even as he told me his 
story I saw up to a point a resemblance. 
He had come into your life as I came, hap- 
hazard, from a desire to protect. He thought 
you were the woman of his dreams, and so 
did I. You made yourself so wonderful to 
him, mean so much to him, that if it wasn't 
true, nothing was true, no woman good. 
Here the resemblance ended in his case. 
You went out of your way to make him 
understand that there wasn't anything 
decent in man or woman, that the world was 
made of mud for them to wallow in. You 
deliberately ' ' 

" IJhated him, I hated him ! " she cried out 
in her pain. " I hated all men. At that 
time I wanted to hurt them all, but I could 
only hurt one at a time, and he was so like 
the man who had smashed me, only younger." 

" Judith, for God's sake," he pleaded, 
" don't talk as if I had put you on your trial ; 
don't make it harder for me. It's all got to 
be said." 

Judith laughed bitterly. " Trial I My 
execution, you mean. You tried and sen- 
tenced me months ago. I was at the trial. 
Thousands of miles away. You were right, 
there is no such thing as distance." 

He went on, ignoring her words : " There 
was neither trial nor sentence, Judith. The 
poor devil only wanted to be sure you'd 
know that he had come to understand. 
That he regretted nothing. It hadn't made 
a man of him, but it had made a poet — and 
that was his ambition. The war made a 
man of him. He enlisted the first week. 
He became a first-rate soldier, and you can't 
say more for a man than that — a good poet 
and a good soldier. You and the war were 
instruments of destiny. No one puts destiny 
on its trial." 

Brushing aside all her attempts to speak, 
he told her how he had made his way into 
Kut dressed as a native to get in touch with 
the Intelligence Staff, had gone to captivity 
with the rank and file instead of the officers, 
because it would be easier to escape ; had 
killed one of the Arab escort on the third 
night and taken his place, herding the 
starving prisoners along the ghastly trail all 
that day. On the next night he had ridden 
away on the backward trail, come upon 
Private Ellison, who had been left for dead. 
" He was lucky," he ended ; " he died on the 
fourth day. Some of them aren't dead yet." 

And all the time she murmured : " I've 
seen it all. I've seen it all before in the 

^v'" QrjgimL .. u ^ 

'il«Hi?r nt to hurt 


me with your hatred/' she cried fiercely when 
he ceased. " I told you I wasn't the right 
kind of woman for yon. Why didn't you 
stop then ? Now, because you've found out 
that I'm not all the things I always told you 
1 wasn't, you try to make out that I'm a 
devil. You wanted to be rid of me " — her 
eyes blazed hardly at him—" you are making 
the most of the excuse you stumbled on, 
Yes, I hurt that man's life. 1 wish I hadn't p 
but I'm not going to wear new snkdotji t^r 
the sin, I wore it long ago after reading his 
poetry. It's worn out now. Everybody 
hurts somebody before they die ; they can't 
undo the wrong, they can only be sorry. 
You got tired of me. That's why you make 
the most of your discovery." 

There is a certain gesture which men make 
when women say things as a wounded 
animal cries. Blake made it. 

" Judith, I must make you understand. 
You think it's Ellison I'm so sorry for. 
Can't you see it's myself ? Ellison's story 
made me understand. They say dreams go by 
contraries. It's daydreams which do that, 
Judith. It made me see that all the wonderful 
dream you had woven for me had no more 




reality than Ellison's, that all the pictures I 
had painted of you were so many mirages/ 1 

" They were wonderful mirages/' she 
murmured, softly. " What a pity they 
were only painted on a mirror I " 

" That you did not love me after all — had 
only amused yourself with studying love- 
scenes for the stage, as you told the other 
poor devil/' 

" You believe that ? " 

He bowed his head. " What else can I 
believe ? 3J 

" How dare you think such things of me ? ,J 
she cried, angrily, 

" The thought came- It wouldn't go 
away. I couldn't drive it away. Your 
love had always seemed too wonderful to be 
true, the swiftness of it, the burning strength 
of it something more than a man had any 
right to possess. I simply came to know 
that I had never possessed it, and my dreams 
fell in ruins like the other man's/' 

Judith came and stood close to him. 
" I'm not goirife to lose you to gratify my 
proper pride as a woman ought. There is a 
sound bfrhjlndcyp^i^prds as if you still 

^^ I vfejWdF MICHIGAN 



" I wish I didn't. I love you too well to 
live among the ruins of our castle in Spain, 
even if you were willing to share it. Now 
you know." 

" If I told you there was no question of 
pity except for myself; if I told you that 
I loved you in every way a woman can love 
a man, would you believe me ? " 

" I would give — what wouldn't I give 

to believe you ? But " He shook his 

head sadly. " It is all a state of mind. 
I had it. I haven't it. My love for you 
is too w r onderful a thing to compromise 
with.' 1 

" If I were the sort of woman you had in 
your mind as Ellison told his story to you, I 
would take you in my arms and make you 
know, make you feel my love. If I were 
like the girl you made me see in the mirror 
the first night I ever looked, I would simply 
cry. I am neither one nor the other, so I 

am without weapons I care to use, but " 

She came up to him and looked into his eyes. 
" Oh, Lawrence, can't you see it, can't you 
see it ? " 

" If I hadn't seen it there before and then 

had it blotted out by another vision Oh, 

Judith, make me believe, but don't let me 
compromise ! " 

" As you made me believe in the mirror 
and the incense ? " 

" What mirror, what incense is this you 
keep talking about ? " 

" Why, lie one you gave me, the terrible 
magical mirror which reflected your thoughts 
of me." 

" I don't remember ; so much has hap- 
pened to me since, but there are no such 

" Why, you said you got it in a monastery 
in Tibet. You said that I would see my- 
self in it through your eyes, and I did. Why, 
I saw you bending over poor Ellison. I told 
you I did, but you wouldn't listen. I felt 
your suffering, the suffering of the garrison 
of Kut. I saw you on the march and I saw 
a devil's face, the devil you thought me. I 
saw myself through your eyes as a terrible 
being. Before that night I saw myself as 
you promised I should, as God planned me, 
or was it you ? Anyway, it was wonderful. 
You can't have forgotten." 

" It must be a dream. There is no such 
mirror in the world." 

Judith § went to her writing-desk and 
opened it. 

" There it is." She held the mirror to- 
wards him. 

Blake took it into his hands. The ghost 
of his impish smile revisited his face. 

" Of course ; now I remember. You were 
in the depths and I had an inspiration. This 
was to be a bridge across a difficult moment 
which I never expected to arrive, I made 

you believe in its magic, because belief in 
yourself was what you needed." 

" You said it came from Tibet." 

" It is possible. I bought it in the Jews' 
market that day near the docks — I mean the 
frame. I remember that. The mirror was 
made in Germany, so I didn't want to buy 
it. ' Ehrmann,' that was the name on the, 
back." He pulled off the backing. " There 
it is, ' Ehrmann, Leipsic.' " 

" But there was magic in it. I saw " 

Judith's voice was halted by the catch of 
her breath. Unconsciously she moved closer 
to Blake, for a great light was dawning in 
his eyes, sweeping away that terrible look 
of tragedy and loss and wreckage. She 
realized that he had seen a great light — he 
stood transfigured before her. No, not 
transfigured, just the old Lawrence. 

" Magic ! " he laughed, happily ; " the 
most wonderful that ever was. The mirror 
was only a means of concentration ; there 
was no magic in that, but in you and in me, 
Judith. Our thoughts leaped space because 
you love me, that is the magic of the mirror 
to me. A sign from the clouds. If we are 
as near as that to one another, as much as 
that to one another, it is a love which was 
born behind the stars and you are the woman 
of my dreams, the end of my search." 

" But the star-dust has all got rubbed off 
my wings on the way," whispered Judith, 
" so what's the good ? You see only the 
earth-stains now." 

Blake gathered Judith into his arms very 
slowly, as though he wished the wonder of 
it to last for ever. 

" What do I care about the earth-stains, 
Judith, on you or on me ? Earth-stains 
and star-dust, the betrayal of you, your 
betrayal of Ellison, they have all gone to the 
creation of this 'you ' I love, to the bringing 
of us together. You saw yourself in the 
mirror through the eyes of love, mine for 
you, yours for me. That is enough. I 
asked for a miracle and it has been granted." 

11 Then you do believe that I love you, 
that I wasn't studying a part ? " This was 
five minutes later, and Judith spoke from 
the haven of her lover's arms, where the 
minutes had been spent in silence. 

" How like a woman to want it put into 
words " 

" Besides, I think you ought to apologize 
for doubting me and having to be convinced 
by a second-hand mirror." 

" I think that, too, would be a mistake, 
darling, and so do you." Blake laughed and 
. Judith gave a contented sigh. They were 
so human, in spite of the mirror and the 
magic and the place behind the stars whence 
they had started blindfold across the uni- 
verse in search oi r one another. 


J 3i 




PLEASANT breeze 
played among the 
trees on the terrace 
outside the Marvis 
Bay Golf and Country Club. 
It ruffled the leaves and 
copied the forehead of the 
Oldest Member, who, as was his custom of 
a Saturday afternoon, sat in the shade on a 
rocking-chair, observing the younger genera- 
tion as it hooked and sliced in the valley 
below. The eye of the Oldest Member 
was thoughtful and reflective. When it 
looked into yours you saw in it that perfect 
peace, that peace beyond understanding, 
which comes at its maximum only to the 
man who has given up golf. 

The Oldest Member has not played golf 
since the rubber-cored ball superseded the 
old dignified gutty. But as a spectator and 
philosopher he still finds pleasure in the pas- 
time. He is watching it now with keen in- 
terest. His gaze, passing from the lemonade 
which he is sucking through a straw, rests upon 
the Saturday foursome which is struggling 
raggedly up the hill to the ninth green. Like 
all Saturday foursomes, it is in difficulties. 
One of the patients is zigzagging about the 
fairway like a liner pursued by submarines. 
Two others seem to be digging for buried 
treasure, unless — it is too far off to be certain 
— they are killing snakes. The remaining 
cripple, who has just foozled a mashie-shot, 
is blaming his caddie. His voice, as he up- 
braids the innocent child fpr breathing 
during his up-swing, comes clearly up the 

The Oldest Member sighs. His lemonade 
gives a sympathetic gurgle. He puts it 
down on the table. 

How few men, says the Oldest Member, 
possess the proper golfing temperament ! 
How few, indeed, judging by the sights I see 
here on Saturday afternoons, possess any 
qualification at all for golf except a pair of 
baggy knickerbockers and enough money to 


„ A. 77 SMITH . 

enable them to pay for the drinks 
at the end of the round ! The 
ideal golfer never loses his tem- 
per. When I played, I never lost 
my temper. Sometimes, it is true, I may, 
after missing a shot, have broken my club 
across my knees ; but I did it in a calm and 
judicial spirit, because the club was obviously 
no good and I was going to get another one 
anyway. To lose one's temper at golf is 
foolish. It gets you nothing, not even relief. 
Imitate the spirit of Marcus Aurelius. 
" Whatever may befall thee," says that 
great man in his " Meditations," " it was 
preordained for thee from everlasting. 
Nothing happens to anybody which he is 
not fitted by nature to bear." I like to 
think that this noble thought came to him 
after he had sliced a couple of new balls into 
the woods, find that he jotted it down on the 
back of his score-card. For there can be 
no doubt that the man was a golfer, and a 
bad golfer at that. Nobody who had not 
had a short putt stop on the edge of the hole 
could possibly have written the words : 
11 That which makes the man no worse than 
he was makes life no worse. It has no power 
to harm, without or within." Yes, Marcus 
Aurelius undoubtedly played golf, and all 
the evidence seems to indicate that he rarely 
went round in under a hundred and twenty. 
The niblick was his club. 

Speaking of Marcus Aurelius and the golf- 
ing temperament recalls to my mind the case 
of young Mitchell 'Holmes. Mitchell, when 
I knew him first, was a promising young 
man with a future before him in the Paterson 
Dyeing and Refining Company, of which 
my old friend, Alexander Paterson, was the 
president. He had many engaging qualities 
— among them an unquestioned ability to 
imitate a bulldog quarrelling with a Pekingese 
in a way which had to be heard to be believed. 
It was a gift which made him much in de- 
mand at social gatherings in the neighbour- 
hood, marking him off from other young 
men who could oniy almost play the mandolin 




or recite bits of Gunga Din ; and no doubt 
it was this talent of his which first sowed the 
seeds of love in the heart of Millicent Boyd. 
Women are essentially hero-worshippers, and 
when a warm-hearted girl like Millicent has 
heard a personable young man imitating a 
bulldog and a Pekingese to the applause of a 
crowded drawing-room, and has been able 
to detect the exact point at which the 
Pekingese leaves off and the bulldog begins, 
she can never feel quite the same to other 
men. In short, Mitchell and Millicent were 
engaged, and were only waiting to be married 
till the former could bite the Dyeing and 
Refining Company's ear for a bit of extra 

Mitchell Holmes had only one fault. He 
lost his temper when playing golf. He 
seldom played a round without becoming 
piqued, peeved, or — in many cases — cha- 
grined. The caddies on our links, it was 
said, could always worst other small boys in 
verbal argument by calling them some of the 
things they had heard Mitchell call his ball 
on discovering it in a cuppy he. He had a 
great gift of language, and he used it un- 
sparingly. I will admit that there was some 
excuse for the man. He had the makings of 
a brilliant golfer, but a combination of bad 
luck and inconsistent play invariably robbed 
him of the fruits of his skill. He was the 
sort of player who does the first two holes in 
one under bogey and then takes an eleven 
at the third. The least thing upset him on 
the links. He missed short putts because of 
the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining 

It seemed hardly likely that this one kink 
in an otherwise admirable character would 
ever seriously affect his working or pro- 
fessional life, but it did. One evening, as I 
was sitting in my porch, reading Taylor on 
the push-shot, Alexander Paterson was an- 
nounced. A glance at his face told me that 
he had come to ask my advice. Rightly or 
wrongly, he regarded me as one capable of 
giving advice. It was I who had changed 
the whole current of his life by counselling 
him to leave the wood in his bag and take a 
driving-iron off the tee ; and in one or two 
other matters, like the choice of a putter (so 
much more important than the choice of a 
wife), I had been of assistance to him. 

Alexander sat down and fanned himself 
with his hat, for the evening was warm. 
Perplexity was written upon his fine face. 

" I don't know what to do/' he said. 

" Keep the head still — slow back — don't 
press," I said, gravely. There is no better 
rule for a happy and successful life. 

He did not keep his head still. He shook 

" It's nothing to do with golf this time," 
he said. " It's about the treasurership of 

my company. . Old Smithers retires next 
week, and I've got to find a man to fill his 

" That should be easy. You have simply 
to select the most deserving from among 
your other employ is" 

" But which is the most deserving ? 
That's the point. There are two men who 
are capable of holding the job quite 
adequately. But then I realize how little 
I know of their real characters. It is the 
treasurership, you understand, which has 
to be filled. Now, a man who was quite 
good at another job might easily get wrong 
ideas into his head when he became a 
treasurer. He would have the handling of 
large sums of money. In other words, a 
man who in ordinary circumstances had 
never been conscious of any desire to visit 
the more distant portions of South America 
- might feel the urge, so to speak, shortly 
after he became a treasurer. That is my 
difficulty. Of course, one always takes a 
sporting chance with any treasurer ; but 
how am I to find out which of these two 
men would give me the more reasonable 
opportunity of keeping some of my money ? " 

I did not hesitate a moment. I held 
strong views on the subject of character- 

" The only way," I said to Alexander, 
" of really finding out a man's true character 
is to play golf with him. In no other walk 
of life does the cloven hoof so quickly dis- 
play itself. I employed a lawyer for years, 
until one day I saw him kick his ball out 
of a heel-mark. I removed my business 
from his charge next morning. He has not 
yet run off with any trust-funds, but there 
is a nasty gleam in his eye, and I am con- 
vinced that it is only a question of time. 
Golf, my dear fellow, is the infallible test. 
The man who can go into a patch of rough 
alone, with the knowledge that only God is 
watching him, and play his ball where it 
lies, is the man who will serve you faithfully 
and well. The man who can smile bravely 
when his putt is diverted by one of those 
beastly worm-casts is' pure gold right through. 
But the man who is hasty, unbalanced, and 
violent on the links will display the same 
qualities in the wider field of everyday life. 
You don't want an unbalanced treasurer, 
do you ? " 

'* Not if his books are likely to catch the 

" They are sure to. Statisticians estimate 
that the average of crime among good golfers 
is lower than in any class of the community 
except possibly bishops. Since Willie Park 
won the first championship at Prestwick in 
the year i860 there has, I believe, been no 
instance of an Open Champion spending a 
day in pnsott. Whereas the bad golfers — 



l 33 

'' Yes. Of course you must know him? 
He lives, here, I believe." 

" And bv Dixon do you mean Rupert 
Dixon ? " 

' That's the man. Another neighbour 
of yours/ 1 

I confess that my heart sank. It was 
as if my ball had fallen into the pit which 



and by bad I do not mean incompetent, but 
black- sou led — the men who fail to count a 
stroke when they miss the globe : the men 
who never replace a divot : the men who 
talk while their opponent is driving : and 
the men who let their angry passions rise — 
these are in and out of Wormwood Scrubs 
all the time* They find it hardly worth 
while to get their hair cut in their brief 
intervals of liberty/' 

Alexander was visibly impressed. 

M That sounds sensible, by George ! " he 

" It is sensible/' 

*' I'll do it ! Honestly, I can't see any 
other way of deciding between Holmes and 
Dixon , ' * 

I started. 

" Holmes ? Not Mitchell Holmes. ? " 

my niblick had digged. I wished heartily 
that I had thought of waiting to ascertain 
the names of the two rivals before offering my 
scheme, I was extremely fond of Mitchell 
Holmes and of the girl to whom he w ? as 
engaged to be married. Indeed, it was I 
who had sketched out a few rough notes for 
the lad to use when proposing : and results 
had shown that he had put my stuff in well. 
And I had listened many a time with a 
sympathetic ear to his hopes in the matter 
of securing a rise of salary which would 
enable him to get married. Somehow, when 
Alexander was talking, it had not occurred 
to me that young Holmes might be in the 
running for so important an office as the 
treasurership, Now, when it was too late, 
I perceived that I had been the unwitting 

"mvmnmtttfsir' l had n * M!d 



the boy's chances. Ordeal by golf was the 
one test which he could not possibly undergo 
with success. Only a miracle could keep 
him from losing his temper, and I had 
expressly warned Alexander against such a 

When I thought of his rival my heart 
sank still more. Rupert Dixon was rather 
an unpleasant young man, but the worst of 
his enemies could not accuse him of not 
possessing the golfing temperament. From 
the drive off the tee to the holing of the 
final putt he was uniformly suave. 

When Alexander had gone, I sat in thought 
for some time. I was faced with a problem. 
Strictly speaking, no doubt, I had no right 
to take sides : and, though secrecy had not 
been enjoined upon me in so many words, 
I was very well aware that Alexander was 
under the impression that I would keep 
the thing under my hat and not reveal to 
either party the test that awaited him. 
Each candidate was, of course, to remain 
ignorant that he was taking part in anything 
but a friendly game. 

But when I thought of the young couple 
whose future depended on this ordeal, I 
hesitated no longer. I put on my hat and 
went round to Miss Boyd's house, where I 
knew that Mitchell was to be found at this 

The young couple were out in the porch, 
looking at the moon. Tfiiey greeted me 
heartily, but their heartiness had rather a 
finny sound, and I could see that on the 
whoie they regarded me as one of those 
things which should not happen. But when 
I told my story their attitude changed. 
They began to look on me in the pleasanter 
light of a guardian, philosopher, and friend. 

" Wherever did Mr. Paterson get such a 
silly idea ? " said Miss Boyd, indignantly. 
I had — from the best motives — concealed 
the source of the scheme. " It's ridiculous ! " 

11 Oh, I don't know," said Mitchell. " The 
old boy's crazy about golf. It's just the 
sort of scheme he would cook up. Well, it 
dishes me ! " 

" Oh, come ! " I said. 

" It's no good saying - Oh, come 1 ' You 
know perfectly well that I'm a frank, out- 
spoken golfer. When my darned ball goes 
off nor'-nor'-east when I want it to go due 
west I can't help expressing an opinion about 
it. It is a curious phenomenon which calls 
for comment, and I give it. Similarly, when I 
top my drive, I have to go on record as 
saying that I did not do it intentionally. 
And it's just these trifles, as far as I can make 
out, that are going to decide the thing." 

" Couldn't you learn to control yourself 
on the links, Mitchell darling ? " asked 
Millicent. " After all, golf is only 

i wjgf<r 

Mitchell's eyes met mine, and I have no 
doubt that mine showed just the same look 
of horror which I saw in his. Women say 
these things without thinking. It does not 
mean that there is any kink in their charac- 
ter. They simply don't realize what they 
are saying. 

" Hush ! " said Mitchell, huskily, patting 
her hand and overcoming his emotion with a 
strong effort. " Hush, dearest ! " 

Two or three days later I met Millicent 
coming from the post-office. There was a 
new light of happiness in her eyes, and her 
face was glowing. 

e< Such a splendid thing has happened," 
she said. cc After Mitchell left that night I 
happened to be glancing through a magazine, 
and I came across a wonderful advertisement. 
It began by saying that all the great men 
in history owed their success to being able 
to control themselves, and that Napoleon 
wouldn't have amounted to anything if he 
had not curbed his fiery nature, and then it 
said that we can all be like Napoleon if we 
fill in the accompanying blank order-form 
for Professor Orlando Rollitt's wonderful 
book, ' Are You Your Own Master ? ' abso- 
lutely free for five days and then seven shil- 
lings, but you must write at once because 
the demand is enormous and pretty soon 
it may be too late. I wrote at once, and 
luckily I was in time, because Professor 
Rollitt did have a copy left, and it's just 
arrived. I've been looking through it, and 
it seems splendid." 

She held out a small volume. I glanced 
at it. There was a frontispiece showing a 
signed photograph of Professor Orlando 
Rollitt controlling himself in spite of having 
long white whiskers, and then some reading 
matter, printed between wide margins. One 
look at the book told me the professor's 
methods. To be brief, he had simply swiped 
Marcus Aurelius's best stuff, the copyright 
having expired some two thousand years 
ago, and was retailing it as his own. I did 
not mention this to Millicent. It was no 
affair of mine. Presumably, however 
obscure the necessity, Professor Rollitt had 
to live. 

" I'm going to start Mitchell on it to-day. 
Don't you think this is good ? ' Thou seest 
how few be the things which if a man has at 
his command his life flows gently on and is 
divine.' I think it will be wonderful if 
Mitchell's life flows gently on and is divine 
for seven shillings, don't you ? " 

At the club-house that evening I en- 
countered Rupert Dixon. He was emerging 
from a shower-bath, and looked as pleased 
with himself as usual. 

41 Just been going round with old Paterson/* 




he said* " He was asking after you. He's 
gone back to town in his car.'* 

I was thrilled. So the test had begun ! 

" How did you come out ? " I asked, 

Rupert Dixon smirked. A smirking man, 
wrapped in a bath towel, with a wisp of wet 
hair over one eye, is a repellent sight > 

" Oh, pretty well. I won by six and five. 
In spite of having poisonous luck/' 

I felt a gleam of hope at these last words. 

II Oh, vou had 
bad luck ? " 

" The worst. I 
over - shot the 
green at the third 
with the best 
brassey ■ shot I've 
ever made in my 
life — and that's 
saying a lot — and 
lost my ball in the 
rough beyond it/* 

"And I suppose 
you let yourself 
go, eh ? " 

"Let myself 

" I take it that 
you made : ome 
sort of demon- 
stration ? " 

"Oh, no. Losing 
your temper 
doesn't get you 
anywhere at golf. 
It only spoils your 
next shot." 

I went away 
Dixon had plainly 
come through the 
ordeal as well as 
any man could 
have done. I ex- 
pected to hear 
every day that 
the vacant treasurership had been filled, 
and that Mitchell had not even been 
called upon to play his test round. I 
suppose, however, that Alexander Paterson 
felt that it would be unfair to the other com- 
petitor not to give him his chance, for the 
next I heard of the matter was when 
Mitchell Holmes called me up on the Friday 
and asked me if I would accompany him 
round the links next day in the match he 
was playing with Alexander, and give him 
my moral support. 

w I shall need it/' he said. " I don't mind 
telling you I'm pretty nervous. I wish I 
had had longer to get the strangle- hold on 
that ' Are You Your Own Master ? ' stuff, I 
can see, of course, that it is the mil tabasco 
from start to finish, and absolutely as mother 

Vol li*.-io. 




makes it, but the trouble is I've only had a 
few days to soak it into my system. It's 
like trying to patch up a motor-car with 
string. You never know when the thing will 
break down. Heaven knows what will hap- 
pen if I sink a ball at the water -hole. And 
something seems to tell me I am going to 
do it." 

There was silence for a moment. 
" Do you believe in dreams ? " asked 


"Believe in 
what ? M 
11 Dreams/" 
" What about 
them ? " 

" 1 said, l Do 
you believe in 
dreams ? ' Because 
last night I 
dreamed that I 
was playing in 
the final of the 
Open Champion- 
ship, and I got 
into the rough, 
and there was a 
cow there, and 
suddenly — 1 
never experienced 
anything so vivid 
— the cow looked 
at me in a sad 
sort of way and 
said, ( Why don't 
you use the two- V 
grip instead of the 
interlocking?' At 
the time it seemed 
an odd sort of 
thing to happen, 
but I've been 
thinking it over 
and I wonder if 
there isn't some- 
thing in it. These 
things must be sent to us for a purpose." 

" You can't change your grip on the day 
of an important match/' 

" I suppose not. The fact is, I'm a bit 
jumpy, or I wouldn't have mentioned it. 
Oh, well ! See you to-morrow at two," 

The day was bright and sunn v. but a 
tricky cross-wind was blowing when I reached 
the club-house. Alexander Paterson was 
there, practising swings on the first tee : and 
almost immediately Mitchell Holmes arrived, 
accompanied by Millicent. 

,£ Perhaps/' said Alexander, " we had 
better be getting under way. Shall I take 
the honour ? M 

" Certainly/ ' said Mitchell, 


I3 6 


Alexander Paterson has always been a 
careful rather than a dashing player. It 
is his custom, a sort of ritual, to take two 
measured practice-swings before addressing 
the ball, even on the putting-green. When 
he does address the ball he shuffles his feet 
for a moment or two, then pauses, and scans 
the horizon in a suspicious sort of way, as 
if he had been expecting it to play some sort 
of a trick on him when he was not looking. 
A careful inspection seems - to convince him 
of the horizon's bona fides, and he turns his 
attention to the ball again. He shuffles his 
feet once more, then raises his club. He 
waggles the club smartly over the ball three 
times, then lays it behind the globule. At 
this point he suddenly peers at the horizon 
again, in the apparent hope of catching it 
off its guard. This done, he raises his club 
very slowly, brings it back very slowly till 
it almost touches the ball, raises it again, 
brings it down again, raises it once more, 
and brings it down for the third time. He 
then stands motionless, wrapped in thought, 
like some Indian fakir contemplating the 
infinite. Then he raises his club again 
and replaces it behind the ball. Finally 
he quivers all over, swings very slowly back, 
and drives the ball for about a hundred and 
fifty yards in a dead straight line. 

It is a method of procedure which proves 
sometimes a little exasperating to the highly 
strung, and I watched Mitchell's face 
anxiously to see how he was taking his 
first introduction to it. The unhappy lad 
had blenched visibly. He turned to me with 
the air of one in pain. 

" Does he always do that ? " he whispered. 

" Always," I replied. 

" Then I'm done for ! No human being 
could play golf against a one-ring circus like 
that without blowing up ! " 

I said nothing. It was, I feared, only too 
true. Well-poised as I am, I had long since 
been compelled to give up playing with 
Alexander Paterson, much as I esteemed 
him. It was a choice between that and 
resigning from the Baptist Church. 

At this moment Millicent spoke. There 
was an open book in her hand. I recognized 
it as the life-work of Professor Rollitt. 

" Think on this doctrine," she said, in 
her soft, modulated voice, " that to be 
patient is a branch of justice, and that men 
sin without intending it." 

Mitchell nodded briefly, and walked to 
the tee with a firm step. 

" Before you drive, darling," said Millicent, 
" remember this. Let no act be done at 
haphazard, nor otherwise than according to 
the finished rules that govern its kind." 

The next moment Mitchell's ball was 
shooting through the air, to come to rest 
two hundred yards down the course. It 

was a magnificent drive. He had followed 
the counsel of Marcus Aurelius to the letter. 

An admirable iron-shot put him in reason- 
able proximity to the pin, and he holed out 
in one under bogey with one of the nicest 
putts I have ever beheld. And when at 
the next hole, the dangerous water-hole, 
his ball soared over the pond and lay safe, 
giving him bogey for the hole, I began for 
the first time to breathe freely. Every 
golfer has his day, and this was plainly 
Mitchell's. He was playing faultless golf. 
If he could continue in this vein, his unfor- 
tunate failing would have no chance to show 
itself. m 

The third hole is long and tricky. You 
drive over a ravine — or possibly into it. In 
the latter event you breathe a prayer and 
call for your niblick. But, once over the 
ravine, there is nothing to disturb the 
equanimity. Bogey is five, and a good 
drive, followed by a brassey-shot, will put 
you within easy mashie-distance of the 
green. ^ 

Mitchell cleared the ravine by a hundred 
and twenty yards. He strolled back to me, 
and watched Alexander go through his 
ritual with an indulgent smile. I knew just 
how he was feeling. Never does the world 
seem so sweet and fair and the foibles of our 
fellow human beings so little irritating as 
when we have just swatted the pill right on 
the spot where it does most good. 

" I can't see why he does it," said Mitchell, 
eyeing Alexander with a toleration that 
almost amounted to affection. " If I did 
all those Swedish exercises before I drove, 
I should forget what I had come out for 
and go home." Alexander concluded the 
movements, and landed a bare three yards 
on the other side of the javine. " He's 
what you would call a steady performer, 
isn't he ? Never varies ! " 

Mitchell won the hole comfortably. There 
was a jauntiness about his stance on the 
fourth tee which made me a little uneasy. 
Over-confidence at golf is almost as bad as 

My apprehensions were justified. Mitchell 
topped his ball. It rolled twenty yards into 
the rough, and nestled under a dock-leaf. 
His mouth opened, then closed with a snap. 
He came over to where Millicent and I were 

" I didn't say it ! " he said. M What on 
earth happened then ? " 

" Search men's governing principles," said 
Millicent, " and consider the wise, what they 
shun and what they cleave to." 

" Exactly," I said. " You swayed vour 

" And now I've got to go and look for 
that infernal ball." 

" Never mind, darling," said Millicent. 




,f Nothing has such power to broaden the 

mind as the ability to investigate systemati- 
cally and truly all that conies under thy 

observation in life." 

11 Besides, " I said, " you're three up*" 
" I sha'n't be after this hole/' 
He was 

right. Alex- 

ander won it 

in five, one 

above bogey, 

axid regained 

the honour. 
Mitchell was 

a trifle shaken. 

His play no 

longer had its 

first careless 

vigour. He 

lost the next 

hole, halved 

the sixth, lost 

the short 

seventh, and 

then, rallying, 

halved the 


The ninth 

hole, like so 

many on our 

links, can be 

a perfectly 

simple four, 

although the 
rolling nature 

of the green makes bogey always a some- 
what doubtful feat ; but, on the other hand, 
if you foozle your drive, you can easily 
achieve double figures. The tee is on the 
farther side of the pond, beyond the bridge, 
where the water narrows almost to the 
dimensions of a brook. You drive across 
this water and over a tangle of trees and 
undergrowth on the other bank. The dis- 
tance to the fairway cannot be more than 
sixty yards, for the hazard is purely a mental 
one, and yet ho%v many fair hopes have 
been wrecked there ! 

Alexander cleared the obstacles comfort- 
ably with his customary short, straight 
drive, and Mitchell advanced to the tee, 

I think the loss of the honour had been 
preying on his mind, He seemed nervous. 
His up-swing was shaky, and he stayed back 
perceptibly* He made a lunge at the ball, 
sliced it, and it struck a tree on the other 
side of the water and fell in the long grass, 
We crossed the bridge to look for it ; and it 
was here that the effect of Professor Rollitt 
began definitely to wane. 

" Why on earth don't they mow this 
darned stuff ? " demanded Mitchell, 
querulously, as he beat about the grass 
with his niblick 


" You have to have rough on a course/* 
I ventured. 

11 Whatever happens at all/ J said Millicent, 
M happens as it should. Thou wilt find this 
true if thou shouldst watch narrowly/' 

" That's all very well/* said Mitchell, 
watching narrowly in a clump of weeds but 
seeming unconvinced, f4 I believe the Greens 
Committee run this darned club purely in 
the interests of the caddies- I believe they 
encourage lost balls, and go halves with the 
little beasts when they find them and selJ 
them I " 

Millicent and I exchanged glances. There 
were tears in her eyes, 

M Oh, Mitchell ! Remember Napoleon 1 " 

' Napoleon ! What's Napoleon got to 
do with it ? Napoleon never was expected 
to drive through a primeval forest I Besides, 
what did Napoleon ever do ? Where did 
Napoleon get off, swanking round as il he 
amounted to some tiling ?/ Poor fish ! All 
he ever did was to get hammered at 
Waterloo ! M 

Alexander rejoined us. He had walked on 
to where his ball lay. 

" Can't find it, eh ? Nasty bit of rough, 
this ! " Original from 

MWflSff^frlWE-HlSrt borrow some 



miserable, chinless, half-witted reptile of a 
caddie with pop eyes and eight hundred and 
thirty-seven pimples will find it, and will 
sell it to someone for sixpence ! No, it was 
a brand-new ball. He'll probably get a 
shilling for it. That'll be sixpence for him- 
self and sixpence for the Greens Committee ! 
No wonder they're buying cars quicker than 
the makers can supply them I No wonder 
you see their wives going about in mink 
coats and pearl necklaces I Oh, darn it ! 
I'll drop another ! " 

" In that case," Alexander pointed out, 
" you will, of course, under the rules governing 
match- play, lose the hole." 

" All right, then. I'll give up the hole." 

" Then that, I think, makes me one up 
on the first nine," said Alexander. " Excel- 
lent ! A very pleasant, even game ! " 

" Pleasant ! On second thoughts I don't 
believe the Greens Committee let the 
wretched caddies get any of the loot. .They 
hang round behind trees till the deal's con- 
cluded, and then sneak out and choke it out 
of them ! " 

I saw Alexander raise his eyebrows. He 
walked up the hill to.the next tee with me. 

" Rather a quick-tempered young fellow, 
Holmes ! " he said, thoughtfully. " I should 
never have suspected it. It just shows how 
little one can know of a man, only meeting 
him in business hours." 

I tried to defend the poor lad. 

"He has an excellent heart, Alexander. 
But the fact is — we are such old friends that 
I know you will forgive my mentioning it — 
your style of play gets, I fancy, a little on 
his nerves." 

" My style of play ? What's wrong with 
my style of play ? " 

•' Nothing is actually wrong with it, but 
to a young and ardent spirit there is apt to 
be something a trifle upsetting in being 
compelled to watch a man play quite so 
slowly as you do. Come now, Alexander, 
as one friend to another, is it necessary 
to take two practice-swings before you 
putt ? " 

II Dear, dear ! " said Alexander. " You 
really mean to say that that upsets him ? 
Well, I'm afraid I am too old to change my 
methods now." 

I had nothing more to say. 

As we reached the tenth tee, I saw that 
we were in for a few minutes' wait. Sud- 
denly I felt a hand on my arm. Millicent 
was standing beside me, dejection written 
on her face. Alexander and young Mitchell 
were some distance away from us. 

" Mitchell doesn't want me to come round 
the rest of the way with him," she said, 
despondently. " He says I make him 

I shook my head. 

" That's bad ! I was looking on you as 
a steadying influence." 

" I thought I was, too. But Mitchell says 
no. He says my being there keeps him 
from concentrating." 

" Then perhaps it would be better for you 
to remain in the club-house till we return. 
There is, I fear, dirty work ahead." 

A choking sob escaped the unhappy girl. 

" I'm afraid so. There is an apple tree 
near the thirteenth hole, and Mitchell's caddie 
is sure to start eating apples. I am thinking 
of what Mitchell will do when he hears the 
crunching when he is addressing his ball." 

" That is true." 

" Our only hope," she said, holding out 
Professor Rollitt's book, " is this. Will you 
please read him extracts when you see him 
getting nervous ? We went through the 
book last nigfct and marked all the passages 
in blue pencil which might prove helpful. 
You will see notes against them in the 
margin, showing when each is supposed to 
be used." 

It was a small favour to ask. I took the 
book and gripped her hand silently. Then 
I joined Alexander and Mitchell on the 
tenth tee. Mitchell was still continuing his 
speculations regarding the Greens Committee. 

" The hole after this one," he s^id, " used 
to be a short hole. There was np chance of 
losing a ball. Then, one day, the wife of 
one of the Greens Committee happened to 
mention that the baby needed new shoes, 
so now they've tacked on another hundred 
and fifty yards to it. You have to drive 
over the brow of a hill, and if you slice an 
eighth of an inch you get into a sort of 
No Man's Land, full of rocks and bushes 
and crevices and old pots and pans. The 
Greens Committee practically live there in 
summer. Yqu see them prowling round in 
groups, encouraging each other vrith merry 
cries as they fill their sacks. Well, I'm 
going to fool them to-day. I'm going to 
drive an old ball which is just hanging 
together by a thread. It'll come to pieces 
when they pick it up ! " 

Golf, however, is a curious game — a game 
of fluctuations. One might have supposed 
that Mitchell, in such a frame of mind, would 
have continued to come to grief. But at 
the beginning of the second nine he once 
more found his form. A perfect drive put 
him in position to reach the tenth green with 
an iron-shot, and, though the ball was 
several yards from the hole, he laid it dead 
with his approach-putt and holed his second 
for a bogey four. Alexander could only 
achieve a five, so that they were all square 

The eleventh, the subject of Mitchell's 
recent criticism^ I tfad I Certainly a tricky hoi 3, 
and it is tine that a slice does land the 



player in grave difficulties. To-day, how- 
ever, both men kept their drives straight, 
and found no difficulty in securing fours. 

" A little more of this/' said Mitchell, 
beaming, " and the Greens Committee will 
have to give up piracy and go back to work." 

The twelfth is a long, dog-leg hole, bogey 
five. Alexander plugged steadily round the 
bend, holing out in six, and Mitchell, w T hose 
second shot had landed him in some long 
grass, was obliged to use the niblick. He 
contrived, however, to halve the hole with 
a nicely-judged mashie-shot to the edge of 
the green. 

Alexander won the thirteenth. It is a 
three hundred and sixty yard hole, free from 
bunkers. It took Alexander three strokes 
to reach the green, but his third laid the 
ball dead ; while Mitchell, who was on in 
two, required three putts. 

" That reminds me," said Alexander, 
chattily, "of a story I heard. Friend calls 
out to a beginner, ' How are you getting on, 
old man ? ' and the beginner says ' Splendidly. 
I just made three perfect putts on the last 
green ! ' " 

Mitchell did not appear amused. I 
watched his face anxiously. He had made 
no remark, but the missed putt which would 
have saved the hole had been very short, 
and I feared the worst. There was a brood- 
ing look in his eye as we walked to the 
fourteenth tee. 

There are few more picturesque spots in 
the whole of the countryside than the 
neighbourhood of the fourteenth tee. It is 
a sight to charm the nature-lover's heart. 

But, if golf has a defect, it is that it pre- 
vents a man being a whole-hearted lover of 
nature. Where the layman sees waving 
grass and romantic tangles of undergrowth, 
your golfer beholds nothing but a nasty 
patch of rough from which he must divert 
his ball. The cry of the birds, wheeling 
against the sky, is to the golfer merely 
something that may put him off his putt. 
As a spectator, I am fond of the ravine at 
the bottom of the slope. It pleases the eye. 
But, as a golfer, I have frequently found it 
the very devil. 

The last hole had given Alexander the 
honour again. He drove even more deliber- 
ately than before. For quite half a minute 
he stood over his ball, pawing at it with 
his driving-iron like a cat investigating a 
tortoise. Finally he dispatched it to one 
of the few safe spots on the hillside. The 
drive from this tee has to be carefully 
calculated, for, if it be too straight, it will 
catch the slope and roll down into the 

Mitchell addtessed his ball. He swung 
up, and then, just as he was beginning his 
down-swing, from immediatelv behind him 

came a sudden sharp crunching sound. I 
looked quickly in the direction whence it 
came. Mitchell's caddie, with a glassy look 
in his eyes, was gnawing a large apple. 
And even as I breathed a silent prayer, 
down came the driver, and the ball, with a 
terrible slice on it, hit the side of the hill 
and bounded into the ravine. 

There was a pause — a pause in which the 
world stood still. Mitchell dropped his club 
and turned. His face was working horribly. 

" Mitchell ! " I cried. " My boy ! Reflect 1 
Be calm ! " 

" Calm ! What's the use of being calm 
when people are chewing apples in thousands 
all round you ? What is this, anyway — 
a golf match or a pleasant day's outing for 
the children of the poor ? Apples ! Go on, 
my boy, take another bite ! Take several ! 
Enjoy yourself ! Never mind if it seems to 
cause me a fleeting annoyance ! Go on with 
your lunch ! You probably had a light 
breakfast, eh, and are feeling a little peckish, 
yes ? If you will wait here, I will run to the 
club-house and get you a sandwich and a 
bottle of ginger-ale. Make yourself quite at 
home, you lovable little fellow ! Sit down 
and have a good time ! " 

I turned the pages of Professor Rollitt's 
book feverishly. I could not find a passage 
that had been marked in blue pencil to 
meet this emergency. I selected one at 

" Mitchell," I said, " one* moment ! How 
much time he gains who does not look to 
see what his neighbour says or does, but only 
at what he does himself, to make it just 
and holy." 

" Well, look what I've done myself ! 
I'm somewhere down at. the bottom of that 
darned ravine, and it'll take me a dozen 
strokes to get out. Do you call that just 
and holy ? Here, give me that book for a 
moment ! " 

He snatched the little volume out of my 
hands. For an instant he looked at it with 
a curious expression of loathing, then he 
placed it gently on the ground and jumped 
on it a few times. Then he hit it with his 
driver. Finally, as if feeling that the time 
for half measures had passed, he took a 
little run and kicked it strongly into the 
long grass. 

He turned to Alexander, who had been an 
impassive spectator of the scene. 

II I'm through ! " he said. " I concede 
the match. Good-bye ! You'll find me in 
the bay ! " 

" Going swimming ? " 

" No. Drowning myself ! " 

A gentle smile broke out over my old 
friend's usually grave face. He patted 
Mitchell's shoulder affectionately. 

" Don't doqahBad,frayi boy," he said. " 1 





■ '-/; 



was hoping you would stick around the 
office awhile as treasurer of the company/' 

Mitchell tottered. He grasped my arm 
for support. Everything was very still* 
Nothing broke the stillness but the humming 
of the bees, the murmur of the distant 
wavelets, and the sound of Mitchell's caddie 
going on with his apple. 

" What ! " cried Mitchell, 

" The position/' said Alexander, M will be 
falling vacant very shortly, as no doubt 
you know, It is yours, if you care to 
accept it/ 1 

" Vou mean— you mean— you're going to 
give me the job ? 

Jr Certainly- You have interpreted me 

Mitchell gulped. So did his caddie. One 
from a spiritual, the other from a physical 

"If you don't mind excusing me/' said 
Mitchell, huskily, " I think I'll be popping 
back to the club-house. Someone I want to 

He disappeared through the trees, running 
strongly- 1 turned to Alexander. 

" What does this mean ? ,J I asked, " I 
am delighted, but what becomes of the 

My old friend smiled gently- 

"The test," he replied, "has been 
eminently satisf actor y. Circumstances, per- 

haps, have compelled me to modify the 
original idea of it, but nevertheless it has 
been a completely successful test. Since 
we started out, I have been doing a good 
deal of thinking, and I have come to the 
conclusion that what the Paterson Dyeing 
and Refining Company really needs is a 
treasurer whom I can beat at golf. And I 
have discovered the ideal man. Why/ 1 he 
went on, a look of holy enthusiasm on his 
fine old face, " do you realize that I can 
always lick the stuffing out of that boy, 
good player as he is, simply by taking a 
little trouble ? I can make him get thft 
wind up every time, simply by taking one 
or two extra practice-swings ! That is the 
sort of man I need for a responsible post in 
my office." 

" But what about Rupert Dixon ? M I 

He gave a gesture of distaste, 

" I wouldn't trust that man. Why, when 
I played with him, everything went wrong* 
and he just smiled and didn't say a word- 
A man who can do that is not the man to 
trust with the control of large sums of 
money. It wouldn't be safe. Why, tha 
fellow isn't honest I He can't be!" He 
paused for a moment. " Besides/' he added, 
thoughtfully, " he beat me by six and five* 
What's the good of a treasurer who beats 
the boss bp^ifwafllteren? " 








. Lowell 


Ill this second instalment 
Mr, Lowell Thoina« T the only 
civilian correspondent who 
witnessed the reclaim ing of 
the Holy Land, continues his 
■mazing life -story of Col. T. E. 
Lawrence, the Oxford scholar 
who- became a soldier and 
raised an army of 200,000 
wild Bedouins to sweep the 
Turk from the fettered land. 


FATE never played a 
stranger prank than 
when she transformed 
Thomas Lawrence, 
the retiring young Oxford 
graduate, from a studious 
archaeologist into the world's 
champion train -wrecker, the 
leader of a hundred thrill- 
ing raids, commander of an 
army, creator of princes, and terror of Turks 
and Germans. 

One day we were trekking along the Watty 
Ithrn. Behind us were three Umusand 

Copyright, 19W, 

Bedouins mounted on the 
fleetest racing camels ever 
brought down the Nejd, 
The Bedouins .were impro- 
vising strange war-songs 
describing the deeds of 
Shereef Lawrence, Prince of 
Mecca, the youthful English 
archaeologist who had just 
made himself the uncrowned 
king of Arabia. Lawrence 
and I were riding at rhe 
head of the column. He 
paid no attention to the 
song, lauding him as a 
modern Abu Hekr. We 
were discussing the possi- 
bility of ancient Hittite 
civilization forming the 
connecting link between 
the civilizations of Babylon 
and Nineveh and Ancient 
Crete. Suddenly he broke 
off to remark : "Do you 
know, one of the most 
glorious sights 1 have ever 
seen is a trainload of 
Turkish soldiers going up in 
the air, after the explosion 
of a, mine ? " 

I suggested to Lawrence 
that it would be a good 
idea for him to arrange a 
little dynamiting party for 
my benefit. Three days 
later we started off at night 
with two hundred Howeitat 
in the direction ni the Pil- 
grim Railway. After two 
days' hard riding across a 
country more barren than 
the mountains of the moon 
and through valleys that would make Death 
Valley look like an oasis, we reached some 
low hills a. few miles from Maan. At a 
signal fronV r !fiift*tifiiBi n Ve all dismounted. 

h y w c iillWW#!SITY OF MICHIGAN 








Leaving the camels, we walked up to the 
summit of the nearest hill and from between 
sandstone cliffs we looked down across the 
track of the railway. 

This railway had been built some years 
before by the Turkish Government in order 
to keep a closer hand on Arabia through 
transport of troops, as well as to furnish 
transportation for pilgrims to Medina and 
Mecca. Medina was garrisoned by an army 
of over twenty thousand Turks and was very 
strongly fortified. Lawrence and his Arabs 
could have cut the railway line at any time, 
but they preferred not to. Trainload after 
trainload of supplies and ammunition must 
be sent down to Medina over that railway. 
Whenever Lawrence and his Arabs ran out 
of food or ammunition they had a quaint 
little habit of blowing up a train or two, 
raiding it, and disappearing into the blue 
with everything that had been so thoughtfully 
sent down from Constantinople. 

I discovered that Lawrence knew as much 
about the handling of high explosives as he 
did about archaeology, and that he took great 
pride in his ability as a dynamiter. The 
Bedouins, on the other hand, were entirely 
ignorant of how to use dynamite ; and so 
Lawrence nearly always planted all his own 
mines, and took the Bedouins along with him 
merely for company and to help to carry off 
th< loot. He had blown up so many trains 
ttia* ht knew the Turkish system of trans- 
portation and patrols as well as the Turks 
did themselves. 


Lawrence dynamited Turkish trains passing 
along the Hejaz Railway with such regularity 
that seats in the rear carriage sold for five and 
six time* their normal value in Damascus. 
There was always a wild scramble for seats 
at the rear end of the trains because Lawrence 
nearly always touched off his ' tulips " under 
the engine, and the only carriages damaged 
were those in front. 

There were two important reasons why 
Lawrence preferred not to instruct the Arabs 
in the use of high explosives. First of all 
he was afraid that the Bedouins would 
keep on playfully blowing up trains even 
after the termination of the war, because they 
looked upon it as the greatest sport they had 
ever discovered. His ^econd reason was 
because it was extremely dangerous to leave 
footmarks along the railway line, and he 
preferred not to delegate tulip-planting to 
men who might be careless. 

In 191 7 Lawrence and his aids blew up 
twenty-five Turkish trains, and during the 
eighteen months that he led the Arabs he 
dynamited seventy-nine trains and bridges in 
all. It is a remarkable fact that he only 


participated in one such expedition which 
turned out unsatisfactorily. 

Near Deraa, the important railway junction 
south of Damascus, Lawrence touched off one 
of his tulips under the driving-wheels of a 
particularly long and heavily-armed train. 
It turned out that Djemal Pasha, the com- 
mander-in-chief of the Turkish armies, was 
on board with one thousand troops. Djemal 
hopped out of his saloon and, followed by 
all his staff, jumped into a ditch. Lawrence 
only had sixty Bedouins with him, but all 
were members of his personal bodyguard 
and famous fighters. In spite of the over- 
whelming odds, the young Englishman and 
his Arabs fought a pitched battle in which 
one hundred and twenty-five Turks were 
killed and Lawrence lost a third of his own 
force. The remainder of the Turks finally 
rallied around the ircommander-in-chief, and 
Lawrence and his Arabs had to show their 

We crouched behind great chunks of 
sandstone for eight hours until a number of 
patrols had passed by. Lawrence satisfied 
himself that they were going along at 
intervals of every two hours. At midday, 
while the Turks were having their siesta, 
Lawrence sUpped down to the railway line 
and, walking a short distance on the sleepers 
in his bare feet in order not to leave any 
impression on the ground which might be 
seen by the Turks, picked out what he 
considered a proper spot for planting a 
charge. Whenever he merely wanted to 
derail the engine of a train, he would use 
only a pound of blasting gelatine ; when 
he wanted to blow it up, he would use from 
forty to fifty pounds. On this occasion, in 
order that no one might be disappointed, he 
used slightly over fifty pounds. It took him 
a little over an hour to dig a hole between the 
sleepers, bury the explosive, and run a fine 
wire underneath the rail and down the 
embankment and up the hillside. 


Laying, a mine is a rather long and tedious 
task. First Lawrence took off a top layer 
of railway ballast, which he placed in a bag 
which he carried -under his cloak for that 
purpose. Next he took out enough earth and 
rock to fill two five-gallon petrol tins. This 
latter material he carried off to a distance of 
some fifty yards from the track and scattered 
along so it would not be noticed by the 
Turkish patrols. After filling the cavity 
with his fifty-pound "tulip seed " of dynamite, 
he put the surface layer of ballast back in 
place and levelled it off with his hatfefT As 
a last precaution he took a camel's-hair 
brush, swept the ground smooth, and then 
in order not to leave a foot-print walked 



J 43 




backwards down the track for twenty yards, 
carefully removing all trace of his tracks 
with the brush. He buried the wire for a 
distance of two hundred yards up the side 
of the hill, and then calmly sat down under 
a bush right out 
in the open and 
waited in leisurely 
fashion* The 
guards on top of 
the cars of the 
first train that 
came along, antr 
in front of the 
engine, who were 
always stationed 
there with their 
rifles loaded, saw 
nothing more ex- 
traordinary than 
a lone Bedouin 
sitting on the 
hillside with a 
shepherd's staff in 
his hand- Law- 
rence allowed the 
front wheels of 
the engine to pass 
over the mine and 
then, as we lay 
there half para- 
lysed behind the boulders, he sent the 
current into the gelatine, which exploded 
with a roar like the faffing of a six-storey 
building. An enormous black cloud of 
smoke and dust went up, With a clanking 
and clattering of iron the engine rose from 
the track. It broke squarely in two, the 
boiler exploded t and chunks of iron and steel 
showered the conn try for a radius of three 
hundred yards. Numerous bite of boiler- 
plate missed Lawrence by inches. 

Instead of provisions, this train carried 
some four hundred Turkish soldiers on, their 
way to the relief of Medina. They swarmed 
out of .the coaches and started in a menacing 
manner toward Lawrence, A]] this time the 
Bedouins lining the top of the MU were 
popping at the Turks, Evidently one 
Turkish officer recognized that the lone 
Arab was the mysterious Englishman for 
whom rewards up to one hundred thousand 
pounds had been offered. He shouted 
something and the men, instead of shooting, 
ran toward Lawrence as though expecting 
to take him prisoner- He allowed them to 
get within a few yards and then, with a speed 
that would have made an Arizona gunman 
green with envy, whipped his long-barrelled 
Colt's revolver from the folds of his gown 
and shot six of the Turks in their tracks. 
He always carried this heavy American* 
frontier model revolver. Alt hou gh very few 
persons ever saw him at it, it was well known 

among the British officers that he spent 
hundreds of hours at target practice, and as a 
result had made himself an almost perfect 

About fifty of the Turks dodged behind the 

embankment and 
started shooting 
at us through the 
carriage wheels. 
But Lawrence had 
posted two Lewis 
machine-guns just 
around a curve in 
the track, where 
they covered the 
opposite side of 
the railway em- 
bankment behind 
which the Turks 
had taken refuge. 
The gun crews 
opened fire, and 
before the Turks 
knew w T hat had 
happened their 
line was raked 
from end to end 
and every man 
behind the em- 
bankment w a a 
either killed or 
wounded. They hadn't a chance. Then 
the rest of the Turks on the train, panic- 
stricken, fled in all directions. 


The Arabs, who were crouching behind the 
rocks popping away with their rifles, charged 
down on the train, tore open the carriages, 
and began throwing out everything on board 
that wasn't nailed down. The loot -consisted 
of considerable money, and many beautiful 
carpets and draperies which the Turks had 
taken from the private houses of wealthy 
Arabs in Medina. The Bedouins piled all 
the loot along the embankment and divided 
it up among themselves. Occasionally two 
men would want the same Persian rug and 
start fighting over it. In such instances 
Lawrence would step in between them and 
turn the rug over to some third man. 

So famous did this young archaeologist 
become throughout the Near East as a 
dynamiter of bridges and trains that after the 
final defeat of the Turkish armies, when word 
reached Cairo that Lawrence would soon be 
passing through Egypt en route to Paris, 
General Watson, G.CXC. of troops, jocularly 
announced that he was going to detail a 
special detachment to guard " Kasr-el-Nil," 
the great bridge across the Nile from Cairo 
to Gezireh* It had been rumoured that 
Lawrence was dissatisfied at having finished 
up the campaign with the odd number of 




seventy-nine mine-laying parties to his 
credit. So the story spread up and down 
along the route of Allenby's " Milk and 
Honey " Railway between Egypt and 
Palestine that Lawrence proposed to make 
it an even eighty, and wind up his career 
as a dynamiter in an appropriate manner by 
planting a few farewell " tulips " under 
" Kasr-el-Nil." 

At every station along the Hejaz-Pilgrim 
Railway there are one or two bells which the 
Turkish officials rang as a warning to passen- 
gers that the train was ready to start. 
Nearly all of them are now at the Arab 
bureau in Cairo. Along with them are a 
dozen or more from Turkish mile-posts and 
the number-plates from half the engines 
which formerly hauled trains over the line 
from Damascus to Medina. Lawrence and 
his associates collected these in order to 
confirm their victories. I often heard the 
remark while in Arabia that Lawrence would 
capture a Turkish post along the railway 
merely to get the bells. And it was no 
uncommon thing to see Lawrence, or one of 
his officers, making their way stealthily along 
the railway embankment, between patrols, 
searching for the iron post marking kilo 
1,000 south of Damascus. Once found, 
they would cut it off with a " tulip bud M — 
a stick of dynamite. 

Lawrence usually spent his time blowing 
up trains when he was not engaged in a major 
movement against the Turks or in mobilizing 
the Bedouin. 


When he first arrived in Arabia in company 
with Sir Ronald Storrs, on a mission to 
Jeddah from the High Commissioner of 
Egypt, Shereef Hussein had just captured 
the Holy City of Mecca, and the revolution 
not only was at a standstill but the Turks 
were rapidly advancing to retake Mecca. 
At that time Lawrence had no definite plan 
in mind, but with the permission of the aged 
Shereef he journeyed into the interior to the 
camp of Emir Feisal, the third son of the 
Shereef of Mecca, who was In command of 
the largest Arab force. With Feisal was an 
army of five thousand men, but it had lost 
heart. He confessed to Lawrence that things 
were in a mess and the future looked dark. 

After Lawrence had looked over the Emir's 
scraggly army he made up his mind that, 
with this force as a nucleus, it should be 
possible to build up a large irregular army 
which would have a great advantage over the 
Turks at desert fighting, and which would 
worry the enemy considerably. He there- 
fore announced to Emir Feisal that his 
troops would be in Damascus within a year. 

14 If Allah wills," said the latter, with a 
dubious smile, as he stroked his beard and 

Diqilized by Vj* ^ 

gazed vacantly out of the flap of his tent at 
his disheartened followers lolling in the shade 
of the date palms. That was in October, 
1916, and by June, 191 7, this lad, not yet 
out of his twenties, had raised an irregular 
army of some fifty thousand Bedouins, and 
although his prophecy did not quite come 
true, he nevertheless led the Arab forces 
through the gates of Damascus within a year 
and a half from the time he joined Emir 

First he marched his men seven hundred 
miles across the desert, and along the coast 
of the Red Sea and the Gulf of Akaba. From 
time to time he would attack a Turkish 
garrison at one of the towns on the coast. 
He maintained a perfect liaison with the 
British cruisers in the Red Sea, and whenever 
he made an attack from the land, the British 
Navy would open hostilities by shelling the 
Turks heavily for a few hours in advance, 
whereupon Lawrence and his Bedouins would 
sweep down and finish the job. He succeeded 
by this method in capturing the important 
seacoast towns of Yambu and Wijh. 

The entry into Yambu, the port of call 
for that part of west-central Arabia in which 
Medina is the important city, was described 
to me as splendid and barbaric. Emir 
Feisal, as the official commander-in-chief 
of the Arabian army, rode in front, dressed 
in robes as white as the snows of Lebanon. 
On his right rode another Shereef garbed in 
dark red, his head-cloth, tunic, and cloak 
dyed with henna. On Prince Feisal's left 
rode " Shereef " Lawrence, in pure white 
robes, looking like the reincarnation 0/ a 
prophet of old. Behind them were Bedouins 
carrying three banners of purple silk, topped 
with gold spikes, and followed by three 
drummers playing a weird march. Behind 
them came a wild bouncing mass of thousands 
of Arabs on camels, all members of Feisal s 
and Lawrence's bodyguard. They were 
packed together in a dense, billowy mass, the 
men wearing robes of every colour, and their 
camels covered with equally brilliant 
trappings. All were singing at the top of 
their voices, improvising verses* descriptive 
of the virtues of the Emir and their fair- 
hatred young English leader. 


The capture of El- Wijh took place on 
January 25th, 1917. Wijh stands at the 
south-western corner of a small corraline 
plateau, bounded on the west by the sea. 
on the south by a wady, and on the east by an 
inland plain. The British warships bom- 
barded the Turks out of their main fortress 
by firing at a distance of fourteen thousand 
yards, which made it* possible for them to 
keep far outside the range of the Turkish 
guns. The daj' before the city fell Lawrence 




led his Arabs right into the heart of El-Wijh, 
subjecting himself and his men to the shells 
from the battleships, and fought the Turks 
in a hand-to-hand battle in the streets. 

Admiral Sir Kosslyn Wemyss, who at that 
time was in command of the naval forces 
in Egypt and the East Indies, directed the 
sea attack on El-Wijh in person. To use the 
Arab phrase, Admiral Wemyss was the 
" father and mother " of the Arabian 
Revolution during Its early stages, and owing 
to the alleged rather indifferent attitude 
taken toward it by the Army High Command 
in Egypt until Allenbv arrived, he deserves 

doubt the mammoth size of the Admiral's 
flagship was partly responsible for the 
impression which the King had of Great 
Britain's unlimited power. 

11 She is the great sea in which I, the fish r 
swim," the aged Arabian ruler remarked on 
one occasion- " And the larger the sea, the 
fatter the fish/' 

It was by the process of accretion that 
Lawrence built up his army. He and his 
few companions, after leaving the Mecca 
country, stopped at every Arab village and 
nomad encampment in the desert on their 
way north, In his masterly and convincing 





much of the credit for the success of Lawrence 
and his Arabs up to the time when he was- 
called to London and made First Sea Lord, 
Whenever Lawrence wanted to make a 
demonstration, or * 4 stage a cinema show/ 1 
as he described it, to impress the rather 
restive Arabs, he would simply get in touch 
with Admiral Wemyss, and the latter would 
steam down from Suez in his huge flagship 
the Euryalus and engage in a little target 
practice with his nine- inch guns along the 
Arabian coast within sight of the Shereefian 
army. On two occasions the Admiral 
anchored the Euryahts in the harbour at 
Jeddah and called on King Hussein. No 

manner, Lawrence would call the Arab 
sheiks together and explain that the Turks 
were so busy fighting the British, French, 
Italians, and others, that they could not 
possibly devote the full force of their 
energies to Arabia, 


The fact that Lawrence was accompanied 
by Emir Feisal, the most popular of Shereef 
■ Hussein's sons, assured him of the heartiest 
possible welcome wherever he went. He 
would sit round the camp fires with the 
Arabs discussing the past greatness of 

Arabi &Ni?tfaTHF mrh\ condition of 






servitude, until he had every member of the 
tribe worked up to a high pitch of frenzy. 
Over cups of sweetened tea and roasted 
goat killed in his honour, in faultless Arabic 
he would discuss with the Arabs the possibility 
of their being able to drive out the Turks, 
The decision, however, was usually left to 
the leading sheik of the tribe. But Law- 
rence's greatest problem was that of con- 
vincing the Arabs of one tribe that they 
should renounce their blood -feud with the 
members of another tribe and unite against 
their common enemy, the Turks, That he 
succeeded in an astonishing and incredible 
way is demonstrated by the fact that within 
less than a year he had loosely united most 
of the peoples of holy Arabia. The first 
three tribes which he brought together were 
the Harb p inhabiting the desert regions 
between Medina and Mecca; the Juhcina, 
inhabiting the country between Yambu on 
the Red Sea coast and Medina in the interior ; 
and the Billi tribe, near Wijh. The first of 
these, including over two hundred thousand 
people, Is one of the largest tribes in all 

After he had captured both Yambu and 
Wijh, where large Turkish garrisons were 
stationed, Lawrence moved north toward 
Akaba and Maan. There he came in con- 
tact with the Bcni Atiyeh, obtaining from 

them some three thousand five hundred fight- 
ing men. The Beni Atiyeh are true Bedouins 
who know nothing about the cultivation of 
land and whose only animals are camels. 

In northern holy Arabia near the head ot 
the Gulf of Akaba the Turks had many 
strong garrisons, Before the Arabs could 
hope to sweep their oppressors out of the 
HejaZj the problem of overcoming those 
garrisons faced them. With the Turks driven 
from the Hejaz, Lawrence knew it would 
then be possible for the Arabs to join in an 
invasion of Syria, Of all points in that 
region the most important was Akaba, the 
ancient seaport of King Solomon, because 
Akaba was the only seaport in that section 
of Arabia, and was the best possible place 
to use as a base for an invasion of Syria, in 
co-operation with Allen by J s programme. 

On June 18th, 1917, with about eight 
hundred Bedouins of the Toweiha tribe, 
two hundred of the Sherarat, and ninety of 
the Kawachiba, Lawrence set out for the 
head of the Gulf of Akaba. He left two 
hundred picked men on guard over the tribal 
tents in the Wady Sirhan, because it is 
customary in Arabia for wandering bands of 
nomads to sweep down on camps and carry 
off everything in sight, provided they are 
not sufficiently protected. The passion for 
looting is oiiSrtiil1±td feftifttinal sins in Arabia. 





As an illustration of how Lawrence handled 
his troops in spite of his complete lack of 
military experience, I remember how on 
one occasion, in order to fool the Turks and 
take them by surprise, he sent a flying 
column of Bedouins on fleet camels to make 
a feint against the Turks at Amman, several 
hundred miJes north, just west of Jericho 
and the hills of Moab. They occupied the 
attention of the Turks so completely that 
the latter failed to discover that Lawrence 
was approaching Maan and Akaba. It is 
only some sixty miles from the head of the 
Gulf of Altaba to the Hejaz railway, and in 
order to prevent the large Turkish garrison 
at the town of Maan on the railway from 
coming to the relief of Akaba, Lawrence 
personally led two flying columns in that 
direction. Seventeen miles south-west of 
Maan his Bedouins swept down on an 
important Turkish post and wiped it out 
completely* The Turks at Maan sent out 
a crack battalion in pursuit. But the young 
Englishman and his band of Bedouins dis- 
appeared in the blue, swallowed up in the 
desert so far as the Turks were concerned, 
until the evening of the following day, when 
they reappeared out of the mist many miles 
distant at another point on the railway. 
Here Lawrence merrily planted a few mines, 
demolished a whole mile of track, and 
destroyed a train. When the Turkish bat- 
talion reached the post at Fuweilah, which 

had been wiped out by the flying column, 
they found the vultures in possession. 

The Turks camped for the night in the 
bottom of a valley near a well at a place 
called Aba-el- Lissan, fourteen miles from 
Maan, where later I lived with Lawrence 
and Emir FeisaL Lawrence meanwhile had 
left his column of camel troops and had 
gone off alone across the desert to see if he 
could locate the regiment. As soon as he 
found the Turks he hurriedly returned for 
Bedouin forces, brought them up on to the 
heights around Aba-el-Lissan, and com- 
pletely surrounded the whole Turkish bat- 
talion by dawn. 

For twelve hours the Arabs sniped at the 
Turks from their advantageous position on 
higher ground, killing many of them. The 
Turks were in a desperate hole, but Lawrence 
knew that if they were under capable leaders 
they would be able to fight their way out 
through the thin lines of Bedouins. At 
sunset Auda Abu Tayi, his valiant Arab 
leader, crept up to within two hundred yards 
of the Turks with fifty mounted Bedouins, 
Then jumping from cover, he galloped 
straight into the middle of the Turkish 
battalion. The latter w^ere so amazed at 
his audacity that when the Arab chieftain, 
riding in advance, crashed into their midst, 
they broke and ran in all directions, but not 
before bullets had smashed old Auda Abu 
Tayi's field-glasses, pierced his revolver- 
holster, hit his sheathed sword, which he 





was holding in his hand, and killed three 
horses under him. In spite of these incidents 
the old Arab was delighted, and maintained 
afterward that it was the most corking fight 
he had been in for many months. 

Lawrence, who was watching from the hill 
on the opposite side of the basin with four 
hundred Bedouins on camels, dashed down 
the slope as fast as the camels could carry 
them and charged into the midst of the 
panicky Turks. For twenty minutes one 
thousand Turks and five hundred Arabs were 
mixed together in a wild, frenzied mass, all 
shooting like mad. The Turks had made 
their fatal error in scattering, as Lawrence 
had surmised they might do, and the battle 
ended in massacre. Lawrence told me that 
he counted over three hundred dead in the 
mair position, and that as soon as the Turks 
had been beaten, the Bedouins, who had 
lost only two of their number, made straight 
for the Turkish camp to plunder it. 

In the charge Lawrence shot his own camel 
through the head with his automatic. It 
dropped dead, and Lawrence was hurled out 
of his saddle and lay stunned in front of it, 
while his followers charged right on over 
him. Had he not been thrown directly in 
front of his own mount he would have been 
trampled to death. 

Most of the two hundred prisoners were 
taken by Shereef Nasir and Lawrence, 
because the Bedouins dashed away, thinking 
only of loot. 


The Arabs in this part of Arabia were 
particularly bitter against the Turks, and 
wanted to kill all of them because of the 
atrocities against their women and children 
comniitted by the Sultan's troops. They 
also wanted to revenge the death of a Sheik 
Belgawiya from Kerak, a very popular Arab 
leader who was thoroughly anti-Turkish. 
The Turks had captured him, harnessed him 
between four mules, and literally torn him 
limb from limb. That was the climax of a 
series of executions by torture which had so 
enraged the Arabs that they swore never to 
give quarter to another Turk. 

Lawrence wanted to have the news spread 
throughout all the East that the Arabs always 
accepted prisoners, so he insisted that his 
men treat all the Turks who surrendered 
with the utmost fairness. 

In the days following the battle at Aba-el- 
Lissan many small groups of Turks came in 
every few hours, and gave up their arms, 
crying " Moslem, Moslem," when they saw 
us, just as the Germans cry " Kamerad." 
A. little later on, to save a Turkish garrison 
from massacre at one place, Lawrence had 
to labour from sunset till dawn, and would 
not have succeeded had he not personally 

walked down the valley in what for a moment 
was No Man's Land, and sat down on a rock 
between the Arabs and the Turks in order 
to break their field of fire. 

The Colonel had left Wijh,. some hundreds 
of miles south, with but two months' rations. 
After giving a part of his supplies to the 
captured Turks, the situation became critical. 
Nevertheless, the half-starved Arab army, 
led by this dauntless and resourceful English 
youth, continued the march north. The 
news of an endless string of victories travelled 
in advance of the flying column of Bedouins, 
and when Lawrence arrived at Gueira, the 
large Turkish garrison came out and laid down 
their arms without firing a shot. Then the 
Bedouins marched down the Wady Ithm to 
Kethura, where Lawrence charged another 
Turkish post and captured several hundred 
more troops. From there they trekked on 
toward Akaba, until they came to a place 
called Khadra, where some two thousand 
years ago the Romans constructed an old 
stone dam across the entire valley. The 
Turks had massed all their heavy artillery 
behind that wall, which constituted the* 
outermost defence of the city of Akaba, 
Lawrence's most important objective. By 
the time the Shereefian army arrived in front 
of this Turkish stronghold the Bedouins qf 
the Amran Darausha and Heiwat, who lived 
in the desert near Akaba, had heard of the 
great victories at Fuweilah and Aba-el- 
Lissan, and were coming across the sand 
dunes by the hundreds to join the advancing 
Arab forces. 


The overwhelming defeat of the Turkish 
battalion at Aba-el-Lissan was the second 
phase of the battle of Akaba. The third 
merely consisted of Lawrence's spectacular 
manoeuvre, when he accomplished what the 
Turks thought was impossible, and actually 
succeeded in leading his army of about ten 
thousand Bedouins over the precipitous King 
Solomon mountains and down into Akaba on 
the morning of July 6th, 19 17. 

Akaba is picturesquely located at the 
southern end of the great Wady Araba, which 
runs down from the Dead Sea to the Gulf of 
Akaba, and up which Moses and the Israelites 
made their way toward the promised land 
of Canaan. On one side is the sea and on 
all other sides are high, jagged, almost 
impassable, arid mountains. The town, like 
most places in the Near East, with the 
exception of the larger cities, is a mass of 
mud huts. Awnings cover the narrow 
streets and the little open shops are filled 
with brocades, prayer rugs, piles of dates, 
and brass dishes. 

The Turks and Germans were so paralyzed 
at the feat oi the Arabs in breaking through 






Hussein ? " said the 

the mountains that 
they were ready 
to surrender at 

upon the arrival in 
Akaba a German 
officer stepped up 
to Lawrence and 
saluted. He spoke 
neither Turkish nor 
Arabic, and did 
not know there was 
a revolution on . 
" What is this all 
about ? What is 
this all about ? 
Who are these 
men ? " he shouted, 

" They belong 
to the army of 
Shereef Hussein, 
who is in revolt 
against the 
Turks/ 1 replied 

" Who is Shereef 
German captain. 

" He is the ruler of this part of Arabia," 
replied the blond Anglo- Arab. 

" And what am I ? " added the German 
officer, in perfect English, 

t4 You are a prisoner/* 

" Will they take me to Mecca ? " 

" No, to Egypt/ 1 

" Is sugar very high over there ? " 

" Very cheap." 

M Good/' and he marched off happy to be 
out of the war and headed for a place where 
he could have plenty of sugar. 

After the capture of Akaba, Lawrence and 
his army lived on the meat of the camels 
which had been killed in the battle and 
pnripe dates for ten days. 

In order to save his army from starving, 
Lawrence jumped on a racing camel and 
rode continuously for twenty-two hours at 
top speed across the mountains and desert 
of the Sinai peninsula. Completely worn 
out by this desperate ride as the climax to 
two months' continuous fighting, a thousand 
miles of trekking across one of the most 
barren parts of Arabia, living on soggy, un- 
leavened bread and dates, and without 
having had a bath for more than a month, 
he turned his camel over to an M.P. at one 
of the street-corners in Port Tewfik, Suez, 
walked unsteadily into the Sinai Hotel, and 
ordered a bath. For six hours he remained 
in the tub, witli the attendants serving him 
refreshing drinks- He says that day was 
the nearest approach to heaven that he ever 
expects to experience* 



Lawrence explained the plight of the Arab 
troops to Admiral Wemyss, who immediately 
sent a cruiser filled with food to Akaba. 
At the same time Sir Rossi yn did a thing 
which will immortalize him in Arabian 
history. The Arabs were afraid thaf the 
Turks would return and capture Akaba at 
any time ; so the Admiral moved his offices 
and staff ashore to an hotel in Ismalia, and 
sent his flagship round to Akaba for a 
whole month to reassure the Arabs. 

Admiral Wemyss also gave I-awrcnce and 
the Arabs twenty machine-guns from his 
ships and a number of light guns. Most of 
them are still lost in Arabia. Lawrence 
received a letter from a warship since the 
war asking him for the return of one of their 
big cannon. He replied that he was sorry, 
but that he had mislaid it + 

And so it was that Lawrence, the archae- 
ologist, captured the ancient seaport of 
King Solomon, where a battle had not been 
fought for at least two thousand years, and 
won the second great victory of the Arabian 
revolution, opening the way for the invasion 
of Syria. Front a squabble in Arabia the 
Shcreefian revolt changed to a campaign of 
world-wide importance directed against the 
very heart of the Turkish Empire, and from 
that time I^awrence's force became the right 
wing of Allenby's army. 

The fall of Akaba, next to the capture of 
the holy city of Mecca, was the most signifi- 
cant event of the Arabian revolution up to 
this time, because it helped to unify the 
Arabs ,tb#m^l-Y*^ .^Fiwfc-el-alLit gave' those 



whom Lawrence had already won over to 
the cause of the revolution vast confidence 
in themselves. It was Lawrence's strategy 
and personal bravery, of course, that played 
the most vital part in the success of these 
operations, but Lawrence very graciously 
and adroitly gave every bit of the credit to 
the Arab leaders under him, principally to 
old Auda Abu Tayi and Shereef Nasir. After 
winning his victory he was shrewd enough 
to take advantage of it in every conceivable 
way. He sent some of his cleverest Arab 
lieutenants through the Turkish lines into 
Syria to spread propaganda far and wide 
through the Turkish Empire regarding the 
battle of Akaba. He also sent couriers on 
commissions to all the tribes of the desert, 
although news of his exploits travelled with- 
out any stimulus. Within two months after 
the fall of Akaba Lawrence had succeeded 
in building up an army of two hundred 
thousand Bedouins. 


When I left Palestine to join him, Law- 
rence^ headquarters were still in Akaba. 
A short time after Lawrence's visit to 
Jerusalem, when I first made his acquaint- 
ance, 1 was having lunch with General 
Allenby and the Duke of Connaught. During 
the conversation Lawrence's name came up, 
and •! asked General Allenby why it was 
that the Arabian campaign had been kept 
so much of a secret. He replied that it 
had been considered advisable to say as 
little about it as possible, because it was 
hoped that large numbers of Arabs fighting 
in the Turkish army might desert and join 
Shereef Hussein in his fight for Arabian 
independence. Another reason was because 
the wives and families of many of Lawrence's 
and FeisaTtf aids were still in Turkish terri- 
tory. But it was thought that if the 
Bagdad, Aleppo, Damascus, and Jerusalem 
Arabs who had been conscripted into the 
Sultan's army knew that the Allies were 
playing an important part in the Arabian 
affair, perhaps not quite so many of 
them would desert. The Allies preferred to 
let the campaign appear purely Arabian 
in character. That was one reason why 
Lawrence's name was never mentioned in 
despatches. But General Allenby added 
that the campaign had been so successful 
that it was no longer necessary to keep it a 
complete secret, and that if I were interested 
in what was happening, and agreed not to 
publish the story until the end of the war, 
he would be glad to let me go down and 
join Lawrence, with the idea of giving the 
Arabs full credit for all that they had 

It was at the head of the Gulf of Akaba 
that we found Lawrence and Emir Feisal. 
Lawrence had transformed the port into a 
great base depot, and enormous piles of sup- 
plies lay stacked on the sands. On landing 
several of the British officers who were in 
charge of the receiving of supplies at Akaba 
took us over to the tent which was to be 
our headquarters while in Arabia. A few 
hours later Lawrence came down the Wady 
Araba, returning from one of his usual 
mysterious expeditions. He greeted us with 
the faint smile which was always on his 
face, welcoming us as if it were an everyday 
occurrence for Americans to arrive in holy 
Arabia in the middle of the war. He was 
wearing an even more gorgeous costume than 
the one I had seen him wearing in Jerusalem. 
It was of pale green, embroidered with 
beautiful gold figures. 


It would be impossible to describe a typical 
day with Lawrence because no two days 
were in any way alike. But the camp 
routine at the hadquarters of the Arabian 
army, when no active campaigning was 
afoot, followed some such programme as 
this : At 5 a ? m. the army iman would climb 
the highest hill-top and give the morning call 
to prayers. He was a chap with such an 
astonishing voice that he woke every man 
and animal in Akaba. Immediately after 
he had finished calling the Arabian proletariat. 
Emir Feisal's private iman would call gently 
and far more musically at the door of his 
tent. A few minutes later a cup of sweetened 
coffee would turn up for each of us, brought 
in by one of Feisal's slaves. The Emir has 
five young Abyssinian blacks. These slaves 
are the acme of fidelity because the Emir does 
not treat them as slaves nor regard them as 
such. Whenever one of them needs money, 
Feisal tells him to help himself to whatever 
he needs from his bag of gold. Xo matter 
what they take, he never complains, and as a 
result the thought of robbing him never 
seems to occur to them. 

At 6 a.m., or a little later, we were in the 
habit of breakfasting with Lawrence and 
Feisal in the Emir's tent, where there were 
two modern carpets and an old Baluchistan 
prayer rug. Breakfast on lucky days in- 
cluded Mecca cakes (a many-layered pastry 
of richly-spiced puffed bread) and cooked 
duhra (a small round white seed — rather 
nasty stuff), besides dates. After breakfast 
little glasses of sweet tea were produced. 
From then until 8 a.m. Lawrence would 
discuss the possible events of the day with 
either the British officers or some of the more 
prominent Arab leaders. During that time 
Feisal worked with fciis secretary or talked 
over private affairs in his tent with Lawrence. 



At 8 a.m. Feisal would hold court and grant 
audiences in the Diwan tent. According to 
the regular procedure it was customary for 
the Emir to sit at the end of a great rug, and 
callers or petitioners to sit in front of the 
tent in a half-circle 

until they were called 
up. All questions 
were settled sum- 
marily and nothing 
was ever left over. 

For instance, one 
morning I was sitting 
in Lawrence's tent 
when a young Be- 
douin was brought 
in charged with an 
evil eye. Feisal was 
not present. Law- 
rence told the young 
Arab to sit on the 
opposite side of the 
tent and look at 
him. For ten min- 
utes Lawrence re- 
garded him with 
steady gaze, his steel- 
blue eyes boring a 
hole right through 
him. At the end of 
the ten minutes 
Lawrence dismissed 
the Bedouin with the 
verdict that he had 
driven off the evil 

One day a member 
of Lawrence's body- 
guard came to him, 
saying that one of 
his fellow-companions 
possessed the evil eye, 
because he had looked 
at his camel and it 
straightway went 
lame. Lawrence set- 
tled this difficulty by 
putting the man 
charged with the evil 
eye on the lame camel 
and giving the de- 
fendant's camel to the 
man who brought up 
the charge. 

The Arabs are terrified by blue eyes. 
Lawrence's are especially blue, so the 
Bedouins thought there was something 
uncanny about him. These people nearly all 
have eyes as black as velvet. Whenever 
Feisal was present Lawrence would step 
aside and decline to decide upon any question. 
He did this because he himself had no 
ambition to become the ruler of Arabia and 
because he knew that it would be far safer 

Vol !ix.-H. 

for the future of the Arabs if their petty 
differences were handled in the usual way 
and not by an outsider. Lawrence never did 
anything himself that he could delegate 
to someone else who was capable of hand- 
ling it to his satis- 




Usually at 11.30 
a.m. Feisal arose and 
walked back to his 
living-tent, where a 
little lunch would be 
served. Lawrence, in 
the meantime, would 
spend a half-hour or 
so reading the inevit- 
able "Aristophanes," 
which he always car- 
ried with him no 
matter where he went . 
He carried three 
books with him all 
through the cam- 
paign, M The Oxford 
Book of English 
Verse, " M a 1 1 o r y's 
" Morte d'Arthur, ' 
and "Aristophanes," 
which shows his 
catholic taste. On 
fortunate days lunch 
consisted of several 
dishes : steWed thorn 
buds, lentils, un- 
leavened bread 
cooked in the sand, 
and rice or honey 
cakes. I ate with a 
spoon, although the 
Arabs used their 
fingers, as did Law- 
rence also. After 
lunch there followed 
a short - delay of 
general talk, round- 
ing out the conver- 
sation of the luncheon 
hour, and in the 
meantime black 
bitter coffee and 
sweetened tea would 
be served. In drinking tea and coffee the 
tribesmen always made as much noise as 
possible, because that is a polite indication 
that you are enjoying your drink. Then 
the Emir would dictate letters to an 
Arab scribe, and sleep, while Lawrence 
squatted on a prayer rug in his own tent 
reading. In case there were afternoon cases 
to be disposed of, Shereef Lawrence or 
Shereef Fois^l would again hold court in the 



reception tent. From 5 p.m. to 6 p.m. 
Feisal would usually grant private audi- 
ences, and at such times Lawrence was 
almost always with him, since the dis- 
cussion would have to do with reconnaissance 
and military tactics. 

About 6 p.m. would come the evening meal, 
much like lunch, but with large fragments of 
mutton crowning the rice heap, after which 
would come intermittent cups of tea until 
bedtime, which for Lawrence was jiever any 
fixed hour. At night Lawrence woiild have 
many of his most important consultations 
with the Arab leaders. Occasionally we 
simply listened to Feisal telling stories of what 
he saw in Syria and Turkey during the 
eighteen years he and the other members of 
his family were held as political prisoners by 
Abdul Hamid. 

Following the fall of Akaba, Lawrence 
made several trips over to Palestine to 
confer with Allenby, and from that time the 
British Expeditionary Forces in* Palestine 
and the Arabian army of King Hussein, led 
by Lawrence, worked hand-in-hand in sweep- 
ing the Turks out of Syria. During the 
latter part of the campaign Lawrence was 
really an army corps commander under 
General Allenby, doing the work which is 
usually assigned to a lieutenant-general. 
Northward from the head of the Gulf of 
Akaba they were joined by the Ibn Jazi 
Howeitat and the Beni Sakhr, two of the 
best fighting tribes in the whole Arabian 
peninsula. About the same time the Juheinah, 
the Ateibah, and the Anazeh came riding in 
on Iheir camels to join Emir Feisal. 

The Arab army was divided into two 
distinct parts, one known as the " regulars ' 
and the other as the " irregulars." The 
regulars were all infantrymen. There were 
about twenty thousand of them. They 
were either deserters from the Turkish army 
or men of Arab blood who had been fighting 
under the Sultan's flag, and who had volun- 
teered to join the forces of King Hussein 
after being taken prisoner in Mesopotamia, 
or by Allenby in Palestine. At first they 
were used mainly for taking the place of 
Turkish garrisons at posts captured by the 
advancing Shereefian hordes. Later on, 
after they had been thoroughly trained, 
they were used as storm-troops in capturing 
fortified positions. 

The Arab regulars were under an Irish- 
man, Colonel P. C. Joyce, who next to 
Lawrence probably played a more important 
part in the Arabian campaign than any 
other outsider. 

The irregulars, who were by far the 
most numerous, were Bedouins, mounted 
on camels and horses. Lawrence had over 
two hundred thousand of them at his 


General Allenby had planned a big attack 
against the Turks in Southern Palestine 
which was to come off in May, 1918, but at 
that time the Allies were hard pressed on 
the Western front and Allenby was forced 
to send the greater part' of his troops up to 
France to help keep the Germans from Paris. 
Lawrence insisted on starting the push north 
into Syria in September or before, but 
General Allenby informed him that it would 
be impossible for him to co-operate before 
late in the autumn. But Lawrence argued : 
" By that time the rains will be on in Arabia 
and the Arabs will be forced to take their 
animals to the pastures of the oases." So 
Allenby rearranged his plans, and sent an 
aeroplane down into Arabia from Jerusalem 
early in August with a message to Lawrence 
announcing that he would be ready to start 
a new campaign about the middle of Septem- 
ber. Lawrence ordered his army to advance 
on August 30th, after he and Allenby had 
agreed that the Arabs should cut the Turkish 
railway lines around Deraa, north-east of 
the Sea of Galilee, and make a camouflage 
attack on Amman, the strong Turkish town 
QTi the Pilgrim Railway, just east of Jericho. 
By forced marches Lawrence and his Bedouin 
army swept north across the deserts east of 
the Dead Sea and began their dance around 
Deraa. Just south of this important railway 
junction Lawrence dynamited a bridge, 
placing twice as much dynamite under it as 
necessary in order to make a thorough job 
of it. This made the seventy-ninth bridge 
that he had blown up thus far in the Arabian 
campaign. He then destroyed sections of the 
railway at seventeen different points, touch- 
ing off seven of the mines in person. The 
French co-operated in this affair and did 
some splendid artillery work. The Shereefian 
army pushed on north and entered Damascus, 
which had been their capital hundreds of 
years before. They drove the Turks out of 
the city after a hot hand-to-hand fight in 
the streets, and Lieutenant-General Harry 
Cheval, commander of the famous desert 
mounted corps of General Allenby 's Palestine 
forces, swept into Damascus the following 
morning right on the heels of Lawrence and 
his Bedouins, who captured the city on the 
evening of October 30th. 


The t w e nty oi ghf -year-old commander-in- 
chief of the greatest army that had been 
raised in Arabia for five centuries, who in less 
than a year had made himself the most 
powerful man in Arabia since the days of the 
great Caliph Haroun-el-Raschid, who had 
been appointed a^> Emir of Arabia, made his 

""M/Mm mm *• dty wMch 



was the ultimate goal of his whole campaign, 
at seven o'clock on the morning of October 
31st. Hundreds and hundreds of thousands 
of Arabs, including the entire population of 
Damascus, the oldest 
city in the world which 
remains standing, and 
thousands and thou- 
sands of the wild F5e- 
douin tribes from the 
fringes of the desert 
packed the M street that 
is called straight/' and 
jammed the bazaar sec- 
tion as Lawrence rode 
through the city, dressed 
in the garb of a Prince 
of Mecca. Howling der- 
vishes ran in front of 
him, dancing and stick- 
ing knives into their 
ilesh, while behind him 
came his flying column 
of picturesque Arabian 
knights. As Lawrence 
passed the gates ot 
Damascus the inhabi- 
tants in that ancient 
Arab capital, which 
was once the most 
glorious city of the 
East, realized that they 
had at last been freed 
from the Turkish yoke, 

For months they had heard of the marvellous 
exploits of Shereef Lawrence, and now for 
the first time they saw the mysterious 
Englishman who had united the peoples of 
Arabia in a smashing campaign which had 
resulted in the downfall of the Ottomans. 
As they saw him come swinging along 
through the bazaars on the back of his 





camel, it seemed as though all the people of 
Damascus shouted his name in one joyful 
chorus For more than ten miles along 
the streets of the city the crowds gave 
tliis Englishman one of 
the greatest ovations 
ever given to any 

After the arrival of 
AUenby's forces Law- 
rence temporarily re- 
mained as the Governor 
of Damascus, and ruled 
over the city of the 
Caliphs until he could 
organize the Arab 
leaders and turn over 
the government to them. 
After the fall of 
Damascus A lien by and 
Lawrence joined forces 
and freed the great 
Syrian seaport of Beirut, 
where the iamoas 
American College is 
located . Still u nsa t is - 
tied, they swept on 
north until they had 
driven the Turks out of 
Aleppo, one of the most 
strategical points in the 
whole world so far as 
the great war was con- 
cerned. And then, if 
the Turks had not laid down their arms, 
they would have driven the Sultan's army 
all the way into the Golden Horn. When 
Allenbyand Lawrence cut the Berlin -Bagdad 
Railway, the dream of the Kaiser and the 
Junkers for a Mtttel-Europa reaching from 
the Baltic to the Persian Gull vanished into 
thin air. 


If you can make an Arab laugh you can do almost anything you wish 
with him, On one occasion, when Lawrence and a half-bred Haurani 
were trekking across Arabia, they were captured by a party of cutthroat 
robber Arabs, In a few more minutes the Colonel and his companion would 
have been lying dead among the sand-dunes. But Lawrence's keen wit saved 
them and they escaped in a most amazing manner. In the next number of 
THE STRAND Mr. Lowell Thomas will describe the above episode in full and 
tell us many other humorous as well as thrilling stories of Lawrence's adventures 
while engaged in liberating Holy Arabia. Lawrence seemed to bear a charmed 
life, and Mr. Lowell Thomas describes how he escaped from death on another 
occasion, when a pistol was pressed against his temple, merely because the 
trigger refused to work. UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




By H. G. WELLS. 

An Experiment in 

A visit from a brilliant young artist from 
Holland, M. Bried6. and a letter from the 
Editor of The Strand Magazine remind 
me that it is nearly a quarter of a century 
since " The War of the Worlds " first saw 
the light. The book was begotten by a 
remark of my brother Frank. We were 
walking together through some particu- 
larly peaceful Surrey scenery. " Suppose 
some beings from another planet were 
to drop out of the sky suddenly/' said he, 
" and began laying about them here 1 " 
Perhaps we had been talking of the dis- 
covery of Tasmania by the Europeans — 
a very frightful disaster for the native 
Tasmanians. I forget. But that was the 
point of departure. 

In those days I was writing short stories, 
and the particular sort of short story that 
amused me most to do was the vivid 
realization of some disregarded possibility 
in such a way as to comment on the false 
securities and fatuous self-satisfaction of 
the everyday life — as we knew it then. 
Because in those days the conviction that 
history had settled down to a sort of 
jog-trot comedy was very widespread 
indeed. Tragedy, people thought had 
gone out of human life for ever. A few 
of us were trying to point out the obvious 
possibilities of flying, of great guns, of 
poison gas, and so forth in presently 
making life uncomfortable if some sort of 
world peace was not assured, but the 
books we wrote were regarded as the 
silliest of imaginative gymnastics. Well, 
the world knows better now. 

The technical interest of a story like 
" The War of the Worlds " lies in the 

attempt to keep everything within the 
bounds of possibility. And the value of the 
story to me lies in this, that from first to last 
there is nothing in it that is impossible. 
There may be life in Mars — that planet 
could support life, and that life would have 
to obey certain conditions ; intelligence 
may have gone farther there than on 
this planet, and soon. All the possibilities 
and impossibilities of the case 1 worked 
out very carefully before I began the 
story, and then, by making all the earthly 
side of it as commonplace and familiar 
as possible, I got as much of the quality 
of reality into it as I could. It had the 
good fortune to please a number of 
readers, and won me the interest and 
friendship of that great Frenchman* 
Anatole France, who shares with Mr. 
Thomas Hardy the throne, if there is 
a throne, in the hierarchy of contemporary 
literature. And just as my brother's 
remark had stirred up my imagination, so 
my expansion of his remark stirred up 
a number of imaginative people to the 
amusement of " drawing Martians." My 
friends, Professor York Powell and 
R. A. M. Stevenson (who is not to be 
confused with his cousin, R. L. S.), pro- 
duced some sheaves of fantastic sketches. 
The story from first to last has provoked 
quite a number of gifted illustrators. It 
was done very well by Mr. Warwick 
Goble during its first magazine publica- 
tion. Years ago a young Belgian artist 
named Alvim-Correa came to England 
to show me a portfolio of drawings, which 
were used in a sumptuous illustrated 
edition (in French) published by 
Vandamme in Brussels. Now comes 
M. Briede, similarly stimulated to probe 
the Martian mystery. His Martians 
are much more " vegetable " than those 
of any previous reconstructed and his 
Martian machines liker living things. 
Here they are, and with them, for the 
benefit of that large (and I fear grow- 
ing) and very undeserving class of 
readers who have never read " The War 
of the Worlds," is a compact summary 
of the story they illustrate. Some day 
men may really know what there 
is on Mars ; they may really see Martians. 
Maybe then some curious collector, who 
has preserved the early guesses of these 
various illustrators, will be able to compare 
them with the actual creature 





THE first star 
was seen early 
in the morn- 
ing rushing 
over Winchester east- 
ward, high in the 
atmosphere. Hundreds 
must have seen it, and 
taken it for an ordinary 
falling star. For in 
those days no one gave 
a thought to the outer 
worlds of space as sources of human danger. 
At most, terrestrial men fancied there 
might be other men upon Mars, perhaps 
inferior to themselves and ready to wel- 
come a missionary enterprise. Yet across 
the gulf of space, minds that are to our 
minds as ours are to the beasts that 
perish, intellects vast and cool and un- 
sympathetic, regarded this earth with envious 
eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans 
against us. 

No one seems to have troubled to look for 
the fallen thing that night. But early in 
tne morning it was found, almost entirely 
buried in the sand, among the scattered 
splinters of a fir-tree on the common between 
Horsell, Woking, and Ottershaw. The un- 
covered part had the appearance of a huge 
cylinder, caked over, and its outline softened, 
by a thick, scaly, dun-coloured incrustation. 
It had a diameter of about thirty yards. 
A stirring noise within the cylinder was 
ascribed at first to the unequal cooling of 
its surface, for at that time it did not occur 
to anyone that it might be hollow. 

When, about sunset, I joined the crowd 
at the edge of the pit the thing had dug by 
its impact with the soil, the end of the 
cylinder was being screwed out from within. 
Nearly two feet of shining screw projected. 
Somebody blundered against me, and I 
narrowly missed being pitched on the top of 
the screw. As I turned to avoid the fall the 
lid of the cylinder fell upon the gravel with 
a ringing concussion. For a moment the 
cavity seemed perfectly black, for I had the 
sunset in my eyes. 




I think everyone 
expected to see a man 
e m e r g e — p o s s i b 1 y 
something a little un- 
like us terrestrial men, 
but in all essentials a 
man. I know I did. 
But, looking, I pre- 
sently saw something 
stirring within the 
shadow — greyish, bil- 
lowy movements, one 
above another, and then two luminous 
discs like eyes. Then something resembling 
a little grey snake, about the thickness of 
a walking stick coiled up out of the writhing 
middle, and wriggled in the air towards me, 
and then another. 

A big, greyish, rounded bulk, the size, 
perhaps, of a bear, was rising slowly and 
painfully out of the cylinder. As it bulged 
up and caught the light, it glistened like 
wet leather. Two large, dark-coloured eyes 
were regarding me steadfastly. It was 
rouqded, and had, one might say, a face. 
There was a mouth under the eyes, the lip- 
less brim of which quivered and panted, and 
dropped saliva. The body heaved and 
pulsated convulsively. A lank, tentacular 
appendage gripped the edge of the cylinder, 
another swayed in the air. 

Those who have never seen a living 
Martian can scarcely imagine the strange 
horror of their appearance. The peculiar 
V-shaped mouth with its pointed upper lip, 
the absence of brow ridges, the absence of a 
chin beneath the wedge-like lower Up, the 
incessant quivering of this mouth, the 
Gorgon groups of tentacles, the tumultuous 
breathing of the lungs in a strange atmos- 
phere, the evident heaviness and painfulness 
of movement, due to the greater gravita- 
tional energy of the earth — above all, the 
extraordinary intensity of the immense eyes 
— culminated in an effect akin to nausea. 
There was something fungoid in the oily 
brown skin, something in the clumsy deliber- 
ation of zlith tedious movements unspeak- 
ably terrible. Even at this first encounter, 



this first glimpse, I was overcome with 
disgust and dread. 

Suddenly the monster vanished. It had 
toppled over the brim of the cylinder, and 
fallen into the pit with a thud like the fall 
of a great mass of leather, I heard it give a 
peculiar thick cry, and forthwith another 
of these creatures appeared darkly in the 
deep shadow of the aperture. 

At that my rigour of terror passed away* 
I turned, and, running madly, made for the 
first group of trees, perhaps a hundred yards 
away ; but I ran slantingly and stumbling, 

jVn* ^dHAJH^e^r^a^n 

for I could not avert my face from these 
things. There, among some young pine trees 
and furze bu sties, I stopped, panting, and 
waited further developments. Once a leash 
of thin black whips, like the arms of an 
octopus, flashed across the sunset, and was 
immediately withdrawn, and afterwards a 
thin rod rose up, joint by joint, bearing at 
its apex a circular disc that spun with a 
wobbling motion. 

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and a 
quantity of luminous greenish smoke came 
out of the pit in three distinct puffs, which 

drove up, one after 
the other, straight 
into the still air, 
At the same time a 
faint hissing sound 
became audible, 
Beyond the pit 
stood a little wedge 
of people, a little 
knot of small verti- 
cal black shapes 
upon the black 
ground. As the 
green smoke rose 
their faces flashed 
out pallid green, 
and faded again as 
it vanished. 

Then slowly the 
hissing passed into 
humming, into a 
long, loud droning 
noise. Slowly a 
humped shape rose 
out of the pit, and 
the ghost of a beam 
of light seemed to 
flicker out from if. 
Forthwith, flashes 
of actual flame, a 
bright glare leap- 
ing from one to 
another, sprang 
from the scattered 
group of men. It 
was as if some in* 
visible jet impinged 
upon them and 
flashed into white 
flame , It was as 
if each man were 
suddenly and mo- 
mentarily turned 
to fire. 

Then, by the 
light of their own 
destruction, I saw 
them staggering 
and falling, and 

THE STRANGE HORROR OF THEIR APPEARANCE-'.'.. |. |(! rnri jw f, r in PHp^S *° fun. 



I stood staring, 
not as yet realizing 
that this was death 
leaping from man 
to man in that little 
distant crowd. All 
I felt was that it 
was something 
strange, An almost 
noiseless and blind- 
ing flash of light, 
and a man fell head- 
long and lay still, 
and as the unseen 
shaft of heat passed 
over them, pine 
trees burst into fire, 
and every dry furze- 
bush became with 
one dull thud a 
m ass of flames . 1 1 is 
still a matter of 
wonder how the 
Martians are able to 
slay men so swiftly 
and so silently* 
Many think that in 
some way they are 
able to generate an 
intense heat in a 
chamber of prac- 
tically absolute 
This intense heat 
they project in a 
parallel beam 
against any object 
they choose by 
means of a polished 
parabolic mirror of 
u n k n own com posi- 
tion— much as the 
parabolic mirror of 
a lighthouse pro- 
jects a beam of 
light. But no one 
has absolutely 
proved these de- 
tails. How ever it 
is done, it is certain 
that a beam of heat 
is the essence of 
the matter — heat, 
of visible, light. 




and invisible, instead 
Whatever is combustible 
Hashes into flame at its touch, lead runs like 
water, it softens iron, cracks and melts glass, 
and when it falls upon water incontinently 
that explodes into steam. 

That night nearly forty people lajr 
under the starlight about the pit, charred 
and distorted beyond recognition, and 
all night long the common from Horsell 
to May bury was deserted, and brightly 



It was in a storm that I first saw the Martians 
at large, on the niglit of the third fid ling 
star. How can I describe the thing I saw ? 
A monstrous tripod, higher than many 
houses, striding over the young pine trees, 
and smashing them aside in its career ; a 
walking engine of glittering metal, striding 
now across, the, heather, articulate ropes of 
steJhJtt6^J^' l 3fcfllGkU^jAtih the clattering 






tumult of its passage mingling with the riot 

of the thunder. A flash, and it came out 

vividly, heeling over one way with two feet 

in the air, tu vanish and reappear almost 

instantly, as it seemed , with the next flash, 

a hundred yards nearer. Can you imagine 

a milking-stool tilted and bowled violently 

along the ground ? That was the impression 

those instant flashes gave, But instead of a 

milking-stool, imagine it a great body of the flat meadows 

machinery on a tripod stand. 

Seen nearer, the 
thing was incredi- 
bly strange, for it 
was no mere insen- 
sate machine driv- 
ing on its way. 
Machine it was, 
with a [ringing me- 
tallic pace, and long 
flexible glittering 
tentacles (one of 
which gripped a 
young pine tree) 
swinging and rat- 
tling about its 
strange body. It 
picked its road as 
it went striding 
along, and the 
brazen hood that 
surmounted it 
moved to and fro 
with the inevitable 
suggestion of a head 
looking about it. 
Behind the main 
body was a huge: 
thing of white metal 
like a gigantic fisher- 
man's basket, and 
puffs of green smoke 
squirted out from 
the joints of the 
limbs as the mon- 
ster swept by me, 

All that night the 
creatures were busy 
— communicating, I 
suppose, and ma- 
turing their plans. 
It was not until 
the next morning 
that our resistance 
began. The fighting 
I saw took place at 
Shepperton \Y e \\ 
where a crowd of 
fugitives were wait- 
ing their turn to 
cross the river bv 
the ferry. 

Suddenly we saw 
a rush of smoke far 
away up the river, a puff of smoke that 
jerked up into the air, and hung ; and forth- 
with the ground heaved under foot, and a 
heavy explosion shook the air, smashing 
two or three windows in the houses near, 
and leaving us astonished. 

Quickly, one after the other, one, two, 
three, four of the armoured Martians ap- 
peared, far away over the little trees, across 
the flat meadows that stretch towards 

Chert ^NI?*ltW^I(ftfl^ lv tpwards 



the river. Little cowled figures they seemed 
at first, going with a rolling motion and as 
fast as flying birds, 

Then, advancing obliquely towards us, 
came a fifth. Their armoured bodies glit- 
tered in the sun as they swept swiftly 
forward upon the guns, growing rapidly 
larger as they drew nearer. One on the 
extreme left— the remotest, that is — flourished 
a huge case high in the air, and the ghostly 
terrible heat- ray I had already seen on 
Friday night smote towards Chertsey, and 
struck the town, 

"Get under |— * 
water ! JP I shouted, 
unheeded. And, as 
the first Martian 
towered overhead 
scarcely a couple 
of hundred feet 
away, I flung myself 
under the surface. 

When I raised my 
head, it was on the 
bank, and, in a 
stride, wading half- 
way across. The 
knees of its fore- 
most legs bent at 
the further bank, 
and in another 
moment it had 
raised itself to its 
full height again, 
close to the village 
of Shepperton. 
Forthwith the six 
guns, which, 11 n- 
known'to anyone on 
the right bank, had 
been hidden behind 
the outskirts of that 
village, fired simul- 
taneously. The sud- 
den near concus- 
sions, the last close 
upon the first, made 
m y heart jump. 
The monster was 
already raising the 
case generating the 
heat-ray as the first 
shell burst six yards 
above the hood. 

two other shells 
burst in the air near 
the body as the 
hood twisted round 
in time to receive, 
but not in time to 
dodge, the fourth 

The shell burst 

clean in the face of the thing. The hood 
bulged, flashed, was whirled off in a dozen 
tattered fragments of red flesh and glittering 

l * Hit I " shouted- I, with something be^ 
tween a scream and a cheer. 

I heard answering shouts from the people 
in the water about me, I could have leapt 
out of the water with that momentary 

The decapitated colossus reeled like a 
drunken giant, but it did not fall over. It 


FLESH ANWfwlffidjN'oL!^ 




recovered its balance by a mfracte, and, no 
longer heeding its steps, and vrtth the camera 
that fired the heat-ray now rigidly upheld, 
it reeled swiftly upon Shepperton. The living 
intelligence, the Martian within the hood, 
was slain and splashed to the four winds of 
heaven, and the thing was now but a mere 
intricate device of metal whirling to destruc- 
tion. It drove along in a straight line, in- 
capable of guidance. It struck the tower of 
Shepperton church, smashing it down as 
the impact of a battering-ram might have 
done, swerved aside, blundered on, and 
collapsed with a tremendous impact into 
the river out of my sight. 

A violent explosion shook the air, and a 
spout of water, steam, mud, and shattered 
metal shot far up into the sky. As the 
camera of the heat-ray hit the water, the 
latter had incontinently flashed into steam. 
In another moment a huge wave, like a 
muddy tidal bore, but almost scalding hot, 
came sweeping round the bend upstream. I 
saw people struggling shorewards, and heard 
their screaming faintly above the seething 
and roar of the Martian's collapse. 

Then again I ducked, for the other Mar- 
tians were advancing. When for a moment I 
raised my head to take breath and throw the 
hair and water from my eyes, the steam was 
rising in a whirling white fog that at first hid 
the Martians altogether. The noise was 
deafening. Then I saw them dimly, colossal 
figures of grey, magnified by the mist. They 
had passed by me, and two were stooping 
over the tumultuous ruins of their comrade. 

The third and fourth stood beside him in 
the water, one perhaps two hundred yards 
from me, the other towards Laleham. The 
generators of the heat-rays waved high, and 
the hissing beams smote down this way and 

The air was full of sound, a deafening and 
confusing conflict of noises, the clangorous 
din of the Martians, the crash of falling 
houses, the thud of trees, fences, sheds, 
flashing into flame, and the crackling and 
roaring of- fire. Dense black smoke was 
leaping up to mingle with the steam from the 
river, and as the heat-ray went to and fro 
over Weybridge, its impact was marked by 
flashes of incandescent white, that gave 
place at once to a smoky dance of lurid 

For a moment, perhaps, I stood there, 
breast-high in the almost boiling water, dumb- 
founded at my position, hopeless of escape. 
Through the reek I could see the people who 
had been with me in the river scrambling out 
of the water through the reeds, like little 
frogs hurrying through grass from the advance 
of a man, or running to and fro in utter 
dismay on the towing-path. 

Then suddenly the white flashes of the 

heat-ray came leaping towards me. The 
houses caved in as they dissolved at its 
touch, and darted out flames ; the trees 
changed to fire with a roar. It flickered up 
and down the towing-path, licking off the 
people who ran this way and that, and 
came down to the water's edge not fifty 
yards from where I stood. It swept across 
the river to Shepperton, and the water in its 
track rose in a boiling wheal crested with 
steam. I turned shoreward. 

In another moment the huge wave, well- 
nigh at the boiling-point, had rushed upon 
me. I screamed aloud, and, scalded, half- 
blinded, agonized, I staggered through the 
leaping, hissing water towards the shore. 
Had my foot stumbled, it would have been 
the end. I fell helplessly, in full sight of 
the Martians, upon the broad, bare gravelly 
spit that runs down to mark the angle of the 
Wey and Thames. I expected nothing but 
death. I have a dim memory of the foot of a 
Martian coming down within a score of feet 
of my head, driving straight into the loose 
gravel, whirling it this way and that, and 
lifting again ; of a long suspense, and then of 
the four carrying the cUbris of their comrade 
between them, now clear, and then presently 
faint, through a veil of smoke, receding 
interminably, as it seemed to me, across a 
vast space of river and meadow. And then, 
very slowly, I realized that by a miracle I 
had escaped. 

But it was not on the heat-ray that the 
Martians chiefly relied in their march on 
London.* The monsters I saw that evening 
as I fled were armed with tubes which they 
discharged like guns. There was no flash, 
no smoke, simply that loaded detonation. 
Every minute I expected the fire of some 
hidden battery to spring upon them, but the 
evening calm was unbroken. Their figures 
grew smaller as they receded, and presently 
the gathering night had swallowed them up. 
Only towards Sunbury was a dark appearance, 
as though a conical hill had suddenly come 
into being there, and remoter across the river, 
towards Walton, I saw another such summit. 
They grew lower and broader even as I 
stared. These, as I knew later, were the 
black smoke. It was heavy, this vapour, 
heavier than the densest smoke, so that, 
after the first tumultuous uprush and out- 
flow of its impact, it sank down through the 
air and poured over the ground in a manner 
rather liquid than gaseous, abandoning the 
hills, and streaming into the valleys and 
ditches and watercourses, even as I have 
heard the carbonic acid gas that pours from 
volcanic clefts is wont to do And the touch 
of that vapour, the inhaling of its pungent 
wisps, was death to all that breathes. 

One has to imagine the fate of those 

batteri ^i\Wift^te^w g ~> tensely 



in the twilight, as 
well as one may. 
Survivors there 
were none, One 
may picture the 
orderly expectation, 
the officers alert 
and watchful, the 
gunners ready, the 
ammunition piled 
to hand, the limber 
gunners with their 
horses and wagons, 
the groups of 
civilian spectators 
standing as near as 
they were permit- 
ted, the evening 
stillness, the ambu- 
lances and hospital 
tents, with the 
burnt and wounded 
from Weybridge ; 
then the dull re- 
sonance of the 
shots the Martians 
fired, and the 
clumsy projectile 
whirling over the 
trees and houses, 
and smashing 
amidst the neigh- 
bouring fields. 

One may picture, 
too* the sudden 
shifting of the 
attention, the 
swiftly spreading 
coils and bellyings 
of that blackness 
advancing head- 
long, towering 
heavenward, turn- 
ing the twilight to 
a palpable darkness, 
a strange and horri* 
ble antagonist of 
vapour striding 
upon its victims, 
men and horses 
near it seen 

dimly running, shrieking, falling headlong, 
shouts of dismay, the guns suddenly aban- 
doned, men choking and writhing on the 
ground, and the swift broadening out of the 
opaque cone of smoke. And then, night and 
extinction— nothing but a silent mass of 
impenetrable vapour hiding its dead. 



So you understand the roaring wave of fear 
that swept through the greatest city in the 



world just as Monday was dawning — the 
stream of flight rising swiftly to a torrent, 
lashing in a foaming tumult round the 
railway stations, banked up into a horrible 
struggle about the shipping in the Thames, 
and hurrying by every available channel 
northward and eastward- By ten o'clock 
the police organization, and by midday even 
the railway organizations, were losing co- 
herency; losing shape and efficiency, guttering, 
softening, running at last in that swift lique- 
faction of fch '2 scoul body, 

^ItfffiSPPWMtSIISffB 11 of the Thames 

1 62 


and the South-Eastern people at Cannon 
Street had been warned by midnight on 
Sunday, and trains were being filled, people 
were fighting savagely for standing-room in 
the carriages, even at two o'clock. By three 
people were being trampled and crushed 
even in Bishopsgate Street ; a couple of 
hundred yards or more from Liverpool Street 
station revolvers were fired, people stabbed, 
and the policemen who had been sent to 
direct the traffic, exhausted and infuriated, 
were breaking the heads of the people they 
they were called out to protect. 

And as the day advanced the engine- 
drivers and stokers refused to return to 
London, the pressure of the flight drove the 
people in an ever-thickening multitude away 
from the stations and along the northward- 
running roads. By midday a Martian had 
been seen at Barnes, and a cloud of slowly 
sinking black vapour drove along the Thames 
and across the flats of Lambeth, cutting off 
all escape over the bridges in its advance. 

If one could have hung that June morning 
in a balloon in the blazing blue above 
London, every northward and eastward road 
running out of the infinite tangle of streets 
would have seemed stippled black with the 
streaming fugitives, each dot a human agony 
of terror and physical distress. 

Directly below him the balloonist would 
have seen the network of streets far and 
wide, houses, churches, squares, crescents, 
gardens — already derelict — spread out like a 
huge map, and in the southward blotted. 
Over Ealing, Richmond, Wimbledon, it 
Would have seemed as if some monstrous 
pen had flung ink upon the chart. Steadily, 
incessantly, each black splash grew and 
spread, shooting out ramifications this way 
and that, now banking itself against rising 
ground, now pouring swiftly over a crest 
into a new-found valley, exactly as a gout of 
ink would spread itself upon blotting-paper. 

And beyond, over the blue hills that rise 
southward of the" river, the glittering Mar- 
tians went to and fro, calmly and methodi- 
cally spreading their poison-cloud over this 
patch of country, and then over that, laying 
it again with their steam -jets when it had 
served its purpose, and taking possession 
of the conquered country. They do not 
seem to have aimed at extermination so 
much as at complete demoralization and the 
destruction of any opposition. They ex- 
ploded any stores of , powder they came 
upon, cut every telegraph, and wrecked the 
railways here and there. They were ham- 
stringing mankind. They seemed in no 
hurry to extend the field of operations, and 
they did not come beyond the central part 
of London all that day. It is possible that 
a very considerable number of people lin 
London stuck to their houses through Monday 

morning. Certain it is that many died at 
home, suffocated by the black smoke. 

I have not space to tell you here of my 
adventures during the days that followed — 
of how I saw men caught for the Martians' 
food, of how the third falUng star smashed 
the house where I was resting, and of what 
I saw while I was hiding there. When I 
came out into the air again I found about 
me the landscape, weird and lurid, of another 
planet. Everywhere spread the red weed, 
whose seed the Martians had brought with 
them. All round were red cactus-shaped 
plants, knee-high, without a solitary terres- 
trial growth to dispute their footing. The 
trees near me were dead and brown, but 
further, a network of red threads scaled the 
still living stems. I went on my way to 
Hampstead through scarlet and crimson 
trees ; it was like walking through an avenue 
of gigantic blood-drops. 



It was near South Kensington that I first 
heard the howling. It crept almost imper- 
ceptibly upon my senses. It was a sobbing 
alternation of two notes, " UUa, ulla, ulla, 
ulla," keeping on perpetually. I stopped, 
wondering at this strange, remote wailing. 
It was as if that mighty desert of houses 
had found a voice for its fear and solitude. 
It was not until I emerged from Baker 
Street that I saw, far away over the trees 
in the clearness of the sunset, the hood of 
the Martian giant from which this howling 
proceeded. I watched him for some time, 
but he did not move. - , 

I came upon the wrecked handling machine 
halfway to St. John's Wood Station. At 
first I thought a house had fallen across the 
road. It was only as I clambered among 
the ruins that I saw, with a start,- this 
mechanical Samson lying, with its tentacles 
bent and smashed and twisted, among the 
ruins it had made. The fore part, was 
shattered. It seemed as if it had driven 
blindly straight at the house, and had been 
overwhelmed in its overthrow. ' : 

A little beyond the ruins about the 
smashed handling machine I came upon the 
red weed again, and found Regent's Canal a 
spongy mass of dark red vegetation. 

The dusky houses about me stood faint 
and tall and dim ; the trees towards . the 
park were growing black. All about me 
the red weed clambered among the ruins, 
writhing to get above me in the dim. Night, 
the mother of fear and mystery, was coming 
upon me. London gazed at me spectrally. 
The windows in the white houses were like 
the eye-sockets of slirjlls. About me my 
imagination; rfoupd^ pi i thousand noiseless 



enemies moving. Terror seized me, a horror 
of my temerity. Fax away, I saw a second 
Martian, motionless as the first, standing in 
the park towards the Zoological Gardens, 
and silent. 

An insane resolve possessed me. I would 
die and end it. And I would save myself 
even the trouble of killing myself. I 
marched on recklessly towards this Titan, 
and then, as I drew nearer and the light 
grew, I saw that a multitude of black birds 
was circling and clustering about the hood. 
At that my heart gave a bound, and I 
began running along the road. Great mounds 
had been heaped about the crest of the hill, 
making a huge redoubt of it. It was the 
final and largest place the Martians made. 
And from behind these heaps there rose a 
thin smoke against the sky. Against the 
skyline an eager dog ran and disappeared. 
The thought that had flashed into my mind 
grew real, grew credible. I felt no fear, only 
a wild, trembling exultation, as I ran up the 
hill towards the motionless monster. Out of 
the hood hung lank shreds of brown at which 
the hungry birds pecked and tore. 

In another moment I had scrambled up 
the earthen rampart and stood upon its 
crest, and the interior of the redoubt was 
below me. A mighty space it was, with 
gigantic machines here and there within it, 
huge mounds of material and strange shelter 
places. And, scattered about it, some in 
their overturned war-machines, some in the 
now rigid handling machines, and a dozen of 
them stark and silent and laid in a row, were 
the Martians — dead t — slain by the putre- 
factive and disease bacteria against which 
their systems were unprepared ; slain as the 
red weed was being slain ; slain, after all 
man's devices had failed, by the humblest 
things that God, in His wisdom, had put 
upon this earth. 

Already when I watched them they were 
irrevocably doomed, dying and rotting even 
as they went to and fro. It was inevitable. 
By the toll of. a billion deaths man has 
bought his birthright of the earth, and it is 
his against all comers ; it would still be his 
were the Martians ten times as mighty as 
they are. For neither do men live nor die 
in vain. 










WHITE.— 8. WHITE.— 9. 

In each White is to play and mate in two moves. 

In the first problem the White rook has command of fourteen squares and gives a mate on each. It cannot 
command more or give a greater number of mates at any time. In the second the Black rook also commands 
the maximum number of squares, and causes White to vary his play seven times. 

{Solutions next month.) 

No. r. — 1. Kt to Kt 6 ; eighteen variations. No. 2. — 1. Kt takes P ; eight variations. 

by Google 

Original from 




1 a 

T was with 
grave misgiv- 
ing that old 
Frank, Irish 
setter, followed 
little Tommy 
Earle out of the 



big shaded garden and into the 
hot field of rustling corn. He 
knew well enough that this 
morning, of all mornings, the 
boy ought to stay in the gar- 
den ; but all his efforts to keep 
him there had failed. He had 
tried to divert his mind. He 
had loitered behind. He had 
run back to the big white house, 
hoping, in the absence of the boy's father 
and mother, to attract the attention of old 
Aunt Cindy to the fact that Tommy was 
running away. 

But there was no one to catch his signals 
of distress. And no one knew what he knew 
— that strangers were camped down there in 
his master's woods. As for him, he had 
smelled them the night before. He had 
barked a while in their general direction, then 
gone down there to investigate. They had 
not seen him, for he had kept out of sight. 
There had been two men and a woman sitting 
by a small fire, with an old car in the back- 
ground. He had not liked their looks. 

And that wasn't all. Not long ago he had 
seen one of the men, half hidden in the corn- 
field, looking toward the house. The man 
had stood there while Steve Earle, the boy's 
father, drove off in the motor. He had stood 
there while Marian Earle, the boy's mother, 
went away with a basket of fruit for a neigh- 
bour. He had stood there until Frank had 
started toward the cornfield, tail erect, eyes 
fierce. Then the man had turned hurriedly 
and gone back to the woods. 

But the strangers were still down there. 
Frank's nose told him that. Therefore his 
eyes were deep with trouble as he followed 
close at the boy's heels. Tommy's objective 
he knew well enough. A few days before 
Steve Earle had taken them both through 
this very corn into the woods, to the creek, 




and had shown the boy the sil- 
very fish in a deep-shaded pool. 
It had made a great impression ; 
Tommy was going to see those 
fish now. That Frank knew. 

In ordinary circumstances he 
was not averse to looking at 
fish himself. But now, with 
every step his anxiety increased. 
For it was beside the pool that 
the strangers were camped. 
And it was straight in their 
direction that Tommy was 

Within sight of the woods 

Frank made his last attempt. 

He stopped and sat down firmly 

on his haunches. Then the boy turned, his 

little face flushed under the white hat. 

" Come on, F'ank ! " he said, impatiently. 
Panting hard, saliva dripping into the 
dust of the corn row, Frank sat where he was 
and looked everywhere but at the boy. 

"Sit there, then!" said Tommy/ "I'm 
goin' ! " 

He went, and Frank went too ; for obedi- 
ence, even against his judgment, is the 
penalty a dog has to pay who loves a boy — 
and will die for him if need be. 

It seemed dark in the woods, like passing 
from out of doors into the cool-shaded living- 
room at home. Here and there shafts of 
sunlight touched the leaves and tree-trunks 
with silver spots. Down the wooded slope 
the boy went, until suddenly he stopped, 
breathless, Frank beside him with pricked 
ears. At the same time the two burly men 
at work on the car down there by the pool 
glanced quickly around. 

A moment they stared ; then they began 
to talk low, excitedly. The woman came 
round from the other side of the car. She 
was young, slim, strong ; she, too, glanced 
at boy and dog, then joined the talk of the 
men. " No ! No ! " she cried. But they 
brushed her aside. She ran quickly back to 
them ; they brushed her aside again. ' Finally 
one of them pushed her into the car and got 
in himself. The other man came forward, a 
smirking sxnile on Ids heavy red face. 




Frank's challenging eyes were raised to 
the man's face. But Tommy, looking up 
with that eagerness to trust common to ail 
young things, from children to puppies , 
answered the man's questions in his clear, 
boy's voice. Many times before, in shops, 
at country fairs, strangers had stopped thus 
to talk to him, had asked him who he was, 
where he lived, if his dog would bite, 

M We got lots of things in the car/* the 
man was saying. " Apples. Peaches. Circus 
things. We been to a circus. Did you see 
the lady ? IJ 

* f Yes 1 " said Tommy, his eyes big. 

M Well, you come along with me. The 
lady wants to show you them circus things." 

Just a moment Tommy hesitated, 
looking wistfully into the smirking 
face and into the narrowed eyes that 
somehow frightened him. Then he 
glanced toward the car and smiled 
in ecstasy. Th&t rolled -up tent 
strapped on behind 
was striped red and 
white like tents at 
the fair. The woods 
became suddenly 
alive with romance, 
luring him on. He 
hesitated no longer; 
he went with the 
man : close behind, 
panting, followed 
old Frank. 

The other man, 
on the front seat, 
his hand on the 
wheel, glanced over 
his shoulder as 
they a pp roac hed . 
In his wide- brimmed 
hat he looked like 
the man who stantls 
in front of tents and 
shouts for people to 
come in and see. 
Half concealed by 
the curtains and by 
bundles, the woman, 
her face strangely 
white except for the 
red spots on her 
cheeks, sat on the 
back seat. Valises 
and suit-cases with 
gaudy things stick- 
ing out of them 
were strapped here 
and there to the car. 
Tommy stopped 
and stared in won- 
derment at this 
travelling splen- 
dour. Close beside 

him stood old Frank, fierce-eyed, wise, 

41 Get in, son," said the man at the wheel, 
il We're goin' to take yon to your ma. You 
ain't got no business down here in the woods 

" Is— is F'ank goin' ? H 
11 Of course. Let the dog in, Bill ! " 
The red -faced man slammed the door on 
boy and dog, and clambered into the front 
seat* The lumbered car lurched along the 
unused wood road. It was stifling hot with 
the curtains down, but old Frank was pant- 
ing %vith more than heat. 

Just ahead, the big road came into sight, 
shining in the sun. The car stopped. The 
men looked up and down the 
road, nodded grimly at each 
other, and the car started with 
a jerk. The scream of Tommy 
broke the terrible silence, 
BJ That ain't the way I * 
The red -faced man whirled 
round, caught the boy by the 
back of the neck, and pressed 
the other hand over his mouth. 
And old Frank, rearing up in the 


\6 by t_i OO Q IC HAN ' 





crowded confusion, buried his shining fangs 
deep in that hand and wrist. The other 
man sprang out of the car, jerked the door 
open, and caught him by both hind legs. 

." Don't stick him, Bill I" he gasped. 
" They'll find his body. Let him go 
home ! " 

Snarling, writhing, fighting, the dog was 
dragged out and hurled into the road. A 
savage kick sent him tumbling backward, 
the man sprang once more into the front seat, 
and the car darted away, Frank after it, 
barking hoarsely, his mouth flecked with 
blood-stained foam, the road flying dizzily 
beneath him. 

All that blazing August day he followed 
the car. Where he could, he stayed in the 
woods, running parallel to the road like a 
swift, silent outrider. At open places he 
lagged shrewdly behind ; by short cuts 
through fields, by spurts of speed at the next 
patch of woods, he caught up again. It was 
an old trick and a simple one ; he had played 
it often before ; but never, as now, with 
such gnawing anxiety, such bewilderment 
and rage in his heart. 

Once, lumbering old rattletrap though it 
was, the car left him far behind. Then, as 
he raced frantically along the dusty road 
under the fierce sun that beat down on his 
heavy red coat, his eyes were like a mad dog's 
eyes. But from the top of a long hill over 
which it had disappeared he glimpsed it 
again in the distance — glimpsed it just as it 
turned clumsily out of the highway and 
pointed its nose toward the distant moun- 

After this it was easy. Up and down hill, 
just ahead of him, the car wallowed labori- 
ously in the rough road. A seasoned sporting 
dog, like old Frank, has the endurance of a 
wolf. On hunting trips with his master he 
had often covered more than a hundred 
miles a day ; but the heat and those first 
flying miles, when the car was speeding, had 
almost exhausted him, and he was grateful 
now for the shade and for the mountain 
streams into which he plunged to cool his 
boiling blood. Noon passed without a halt. 
The sultry afternoon wore on. And still the 
big setter followed in the shelter of the trees 
which shut in the road. To show himself 
meant death. And Tommy needed him 
alive, not dead. 

The car turned out of the road at last. It 
bumped a while through woods, stopped, 
and he sank down behind a bush. * The sun 
had just set. For miles they had not passed 
a house. 

The men, stiff, dusty, hot, got out. The 
heavy man's hand was bandaged. Then the 
woman got out, then the boy. A great, 
trembling desire seized the dog to rush for- 
ward, to let the boy know he was there. 

Every muscle quivered. Bqt one of the 
men pulled a shot-gun out of the car, and 
the dog bowed his head between his paws in 
a sort of shame. That was the symbol of 
his helplessness. That was what stood 
between his fangs and those men's throats. 

He watched them unstrap the tent and 
drag it off to the depths of a thicket. Valises, 
telescopes, all the cheap pageantry of then- 
trade, went the same way. They were 
staking everything on the prize that had 
walked into their hands that morning, 
coming like a little prince from that big 
white house surrounded by broad fields rich 
with corn. 

At last the man who had dnven the car 
picked up the gun. The woman took the 
boy by. the hand, but he drew back, look- 
ing up at her and holding to his hat. She 
spoke to him low and huskily, her face white. 
Then, as he perforce went with her, Frank 
heard him crying in the Woods, heard the 
convulsive catches of his voice, saw the 
twinkle, through the trees, of white socks 
above reluctant sandalled feet. 

Eyes sullen and fierce, he rose and fol- 
lowed, hidden by the bushes and trees. 
Down the hill where a creek gurgled, the 
man with the gun turned. He was hard- 
jawed, pale-eyed. 

" Shut up ! " he said to the boy. 

The convulsive sobs went on. 

11 Shut up ! " 

A few steps the dog rushed forward, hair 
risen all the way down his back. Then he 
sank down on the ground ; for the woman 
had dropped the bundles and was on her 
knees before the boy, her arm about his 
heaving shoulders. Her voice rang thiough 
the woods, husky and shrill. 

" He can't help it, Joe ! " 

The crying had stopped now. But the 
sturdy little chest was still rising and falling 
as the boy stood looking up with quivering 
face at the man. The woman picked up her 
bundles, rose, and took his hand once more. 
Still holding to his hat, he went with her, in 
silence now, taking two little trotting steps 
to one of hers. 

They spent the night in the woods, out of 
hearing of any chance passer-by along the 
road. Carefully hidden in the underbrush, 
old Frank watched them. Only once did 
he leave them. Then he went to the car, 
found a big chunk of meat wrapped in a 
paper under the back seat, made his meal 
off his enemies, and came guardedly back, 
licking his chops. They were gone again 
before day. The rising sun found the car 
toiling upward into the echoing depths of 
the mountains. Just round the last bend 
in the road followed old Frank. 

Sometimes he stopped to drink at streams 
that came slipping down green walls of rock. 




His tongue hung out ; he was gaunt, dust- 
covered, weary-eyed. The few mpuntaineers 
he passed looked at him with narrow sus- 
picion, then back up the winding road where 
that curtained car had disappeared. With 
just a glance up into their faces, he galloped 
on. • 

But when another car, long, black, shining, 
like the one at home, swung suddenly round 
the bend just ahead, he stopped short. The 
weariness left his eyes, the stiffness went out 
of his muscles, his heart gave a great bound. 
Four sportsmen, such as he and his master 
associated with, bobbed comfortably up and 
down in the capacious seats. Their fishing- 
rods were strapped to the side. He saw the 
twinkle in their eyes as they stopped. 

" What's up, old man ? " they asked. 

Maybe he got a bit rattled. Anyway, he 
failed. Hq ran up the road in the direction 
of that other car, wheeled, and ran back. 
He jumped up on the step with his front 
paws, he looked up with pleading eyes from 
one face to another. 

" Those folk left him behind," they said. 

They assured him that it was a shame to 
treat a good old dog that way, but that he 
could catch up if he kept plugging. They 
threw him something to eat, wished him good 
luck, and left him standing in the road, 
looking after them with disconsolate eyes. 

After he had eaten the food and taken up 
his solitary pursuit he heard far below the 
sound of their car. Even their voices 
floated up to him. 

I tell you," said one, ' it was an S.O.S. I 
We ought to have followed him. Some- 
thing queer about that car." 

But they were gone, for all that, like the 
friends who, whether we be man or woman 
or dog, daily pass us by, willing to help if 
they only understood. 

It was dusk when he caught up. The car 
had reached the top of the range it had been 
climbing all day. From behind a bush he 
watched it turn out of the road. Like some 
mammoth beast astray it bumped and 
swayed across a desolate field to a black 
thicket of stunted pines, huddled densely 
together. On the side of the thicket away 
from the road the car stopped, and old Frank 
crept into the pines and lay down. The 
men got out, then the woman, then the 

He saw Tommy looking about in bewilder- 
ment at this roof of the world, on which, a 
lonely little figure, he stood close to the 
woman. Again the longing seized the dog 
to rush forward to let the boy know he, too, 
was here. But there were the men close by ; 
and in the car was the gun. Again he bowed 
his head between his paws, and his eyes were 
deep with trouble. 

Suddenly the man who had driven the car 

Vol. lix.-12. 

turned. He glanced at the woman and the 
boy, then toward the road. 

" Here — you get back in that car, kid ! " 
he said. 

Tommy's face was white in the dusk, and 
he held tight to the skirt of the woman, 

" Did you hear me ? " 

" He's dead tired, Joe," snapped the 

The man took a sudden, threatening step 
forward. In the thicket Frank rose quiver- 
ing to his feet. But with a quick movement 
the woman had pushed the boy behind her. 

" Don't you touch him, Joe ! " she flashed. 
A moment she stood facing him, slim and 
defiant, in the dusk. Then she took the 
boy's hand and they went back to the car. 

Suddenly Frank rose on his front legs, 
ears thrown back, eyes glowing wildly. It 
seemed to him that the boy had looked 
straight into the bushes where he lay. 
Certainly for a moment he had pulled back 
on the woman's hand. Then he went on 
with her and they got into the car. But 
Frank still sat on his haunches, panting and 
choking and panting again. 

At last he crept along the edge of the 
thicket and lay there close to the car, but 
still hidden. That glimpse into the boy's 
face had almost undone him. He wanted 
to go to the car, to scratch at the curtains. 
But yonder, a hundred feet away, back and 
forth before a fire they had built, moved the 
men. And against the box they had taken 
from the car leaned the gun. 

He heard the voice of the woman, low, 
confidential, assuring, and his ears flattened 
with gratitude and trust. The man wouldn't 
hurt him, she Was telling the boy. Some- 
times he talked to everybody that way. He 
was an old grouser, that's what he was. She 
whispered something. 

" To-morrow ? " the boy asked, eagerly. 

" Hush ! Yes. That's it— to-morrow ! " 

" Did F'ank go home, Nita ? " 

ec Of course he went home." 

c * I saw a dog in the bushes ! '* 

The woman laughed. #c You're seeing 
things, old chap. What about some supper ? " 

She got out of the car and went quickly 
to the fire. Without a word to the men she 
gathered up something to eat and came 
quickly back. Even in the darkness Frank 
could see the light in her eyes. 

The boy must have gone to sleep soon 
after that. The moon, big, weird, solemn, 
rose slowly over a parallel range of moun- 
tains. Presently the heavy man got up, 
skirted the thicket, and stumbled off across 
the field toward the road. The smell of 
him polluted the air no more. Then the 
woman came quietly out of the car and 
joined the other man at the fire. 

" Where's he gone ? " she asked. 




" To get the lie of the land ahead." 

" Joe ! " 

" Well ? " 

" I don't like this job, Joe ! " 

He said nothing, and she talked on, her 
voice low, Still he said nothing. Then she 
went over to him, sat down beside him, 
took his hands in hers. " Let's take him 
home ! " she pleaded, tm Let's make a clean 
breast of it. Let's be straight* They'll 
give us a chance — I know they wilh They're 
like the kid — white, Let's turn round right 
now. 1 promised him we'd take him home 
to-morrow, Joe, I'd rather be dead fhari 
go on I ,J 

She rose when he 
rose, clinging to him ; 
but he threw her oil 
M I'm tired of this ! " 
he cried, " We're in 
this thing and we're 
goin 1 to see it through 

The daddy '11 pay up, or I'll wring the brat's 
neck + " 

* + Oh ! " she screamed. 

She stared at him with white face, foil 
of horror and fear and loathing. She 
turned and stumbled toward the car ; the 
curtains closed upon her. Far in the 
night Frank heard her sobbing to herself. 






His eyes were green with hatred as 
he followed the car next day- A few 
crumbs of bread from the deserted 
camping place; a taste of potted meat 
from a can he held fiercely between his 
paws while he licked the inside, had 
made his meagre breakfast. There were 
times that day when, if the men had 
looked behind, they must have seen him. 
There were times when he would not 
have cared if they had. Wearily he 
trotted or loped along, tongue lolling 
out, collar loose on his neck. So another 
day wore on and afternoon came* Then 
the car stopped, and again instinctively 
he turned aside into the bushes. 

Suddenly hfs panting ceased, he raised 

his W'iwhiita From the 



valley below had come the smell of human 
habitations and the faint tinkle of a cow-bell. 
Eyes bright in an instant, he watched the 
men climb stiffly out of the car ahead. They 
talked for a while, looking up and down the 
rough road they had been following, then 
down a shaded road that led pleasantly to 
the valley below. 

" There ain't a drop of petrol left," said 
the man who had driven the car. " It's the 
last chance for fifty miles." 

He pulled a big can out of the car, then he 
parted the curtains. 

" See here, kid — you keep quiet. Hear ? " 

No sound came from within. 

44 Did you hear me ? " 

The voice sounded muffled in a sort of sob. 

" Yes, sir ! " 

" All right. Remember ! I'm coming 

" You drive up to them bushes and wait," 
he said to his companion. Then, putting 
into his hip-pocket something that flashed 
brilliantly, even pleasantly, in the sun, be 
picked up the can and started down the 
shaded road. The dog, fierce eyes shrewd, 
hair risen all the way down his gaunt back, 
rose guardedly, crept through the bushes, 
and followed. 

. Old Frank had been a companion of men 
all his days. He had hunted with them, 
shared their food and fire, looked up with 
steady, open eyes into their faces. He had 
never had a human enemy before. But now 
he stalked this man as his ancestors had 
stalked big game — muscles tense, head low 
between gaunt shoulder-blades, eyes hard 
and bloodshot. When the man turned he 
would rush forward and spring at his throat. 

But the man hurried on. And thus they 
came suddenly out of the wilderness into a 
village street. At the end of the street rose 
the white columns of a building with a big, 
black, dust-covered car in front. Women 
in white, children with nurses, were abroad 
in the coolness of the afternoon. It was the 
busy season, when the heat of the cities 
drives people to the fresh air of the mountains. 

Through this holiday crowd went the red- 
faced, dusty man. Twenty paces behind fol- 
lowed the gaunt Irish setter. People stopped 
in the street to look back at him. Children 
pulled their nurses' hands, thrilling to make 
friends with such a big dog, then pulled back, 
distrustful of the look in his eyes. Next to 
the chemist's was a garage. About the 
entrance loitered a group of men. One was 
bigger than the rest, and wore a wide-brimmed 

Through this group pushed the man with 
the can, and close behind now followed the 
gaunt Irish setter. It happened quickly, 
like one of those mountain tragedies that 
brood over such places, remnants of feuds 

that hang on to the skirts of civilization. 
Two muffled pistol-shots broke the peace and 
security of the village, and brought men 
running to the garage. For the man with 
the can had turned at last, and Frank had 
sprung straight at his throat. 

From the confusion came the hoarse 
shout, " Leave me alone ! Let me kill that 
dog ! He's mad ! " 

11 I've got the dog all right ! " cried the 
big. man in the broad-brimmed hat. " If 
he's mad I'll tend to him ! " 

Plunging, barking, begging to be turned 
loose, old Frank was dragged backward 
across the cement floor. In the door of a 
glass-enclosed office the big man, holding 
tight to his collar, turned. 

" Here — you — Sam ! " he panted. " Run 
to the hotel. Tell Mr. Earle — the gentle- 
man that just came with his wife — we got a 
man down here and a red Irish setter. 
Quick ! Catch him before he leaves ! " 

Then they were in the office, the door was 
shut, the big man still holding to the dog's 
collar. He was quiet now. But the blood 
that dripped slowly on the floor was no 
redder than his eyes. The door opened 
and he plunged forward. But it was a 
stranger — a young man with a- star on his 

** Sam got 'em, Sheriff," he said ; " they're 
comin'. Shall I bring the man in here ? " 

" No. Keep him out there. This fellow's 
still seein' red." 

" Hit ? " 

41 Ear. That's all." 

" Well, he left his mark on that devil all 
right ! " 

The young man went out. Still the 
sheriff held to the dog's collar. Still through 
the glass windows the crowd stared in. But 
suddenly it parted, and then Frank saw them, 

" Hold on ! " panted the sheriff. " No 
use to tear the house down. They'll be in 
here in a minute ! " 

The door opened, they were in the office, 
the sheriff had turned him loose. He was 
jumping up against his tall master, long ears 
thrown back, upraised eyes aglow, heart 
pounding against his lean ribs. But it was 
the look in his young mistress's eyes that 
brought him down to the floor before her in 
sudden recollection, that went straight to 
his heart, that set him all a-tremble with 
choking eagerness. 

" Take us to him, Frank ! " she gasped. 

He led them, master and mistress and 
officers, out of the town, up the shaded road 
across which slanting sunbeams gently sifted. 
He led them to that car he had followed 
secretly through the days and watched with- 
out sleep through the nights. Only his 
master's low-voiced command held him back 







4 Steady, Frank ! Steady, old man ! M 

But they must have made some noise, 
quiet as they tried to be. For before they 
reached the car the heavy man scrambled 
out, stared for a moment in stupid bewilder- 
ment, then threw both hands high up over 
his head. 

" Don't shoot I " ho pleaded, hoarsely, 
41 We ain't done the kid no harm ! " 

Then it was that Frank broke away and 
rushed at last to that curtained car. With 
shining eyes he sprang into the front, over 
the seat, into the rear. Tommy's arms were 
about his neck, Tommy was crying over and 
over to the woman, all out of breath : — 

€t It J s F'ank, Nita ! He didn't go home, 
I saw him in the bushes ! " 

f( It's your mother, too/' she said. She 
tried to smile. " I told you it would be 

to day— didn't I ? '*' She 
snatched him to her and 
kissed him fiercely. She 
opened the door. " Good- 
bye, old chap ! " she whis- 

Outside the car old Frank 
stood by, quivering with pride, while the boy 
passed from the mother's into the father's 
arms, He saw the light in their faces, the 
flash of the sun on the boy's curls, the smiles 
of the officers who looked on. Then the 
shadow of terrible days and nights fell across 
his happiness, and for the second time that 
day he s^^slflpr^^^^lpf^ stepped 



out of the cat, and the big sheriff had caught 
her by the arm. 

The dog glanced up into the faces about 
him. But none of them had seen. He ran 
to the woman ; he took his stand beside 
her, looking up at the sheriff with fierce, 
pleading eyes. But the sheriff still held 
her arm, and the dog growled, partly in 
anger, partly in trouble. Then Tommy saw, 
too. He wriggled loose from his father ; he 
came running to their help. 

" Let go of her ! " he screamed, and 
caught the woman's skirt with both hands. 
" Daddy, make him let her go ! " 

But it was his mother who understood, 
who came to them with shining face and 
caught the woman by both hands. Frank 
knew it was all right now, even when the 
woman sank down on ■ the car-step and 
sobbed brokenly, her face buried in her 
hands. For the sheriff had stepped back, 
and his mistress was at the woman's side, 
an arm about her shoulder. 

That night Frank lay in the crowded lobby 
of the hotel, ears pricked toward the dining- 
room door. He had already had his supper. 

" Two big steaks — raw," Steve Earle had 

" And a big dish of ice-cream," Marian 
Earle had added, with a smile, for old Frank 
was an epicurean in his way. 

And now the sheriff was telling the crowd 
about him. 

" He followed that car for two hundred 
miles. That was nothing ! Been hunting 
all his life. But he kept out of sight — that's 
the thing. They never saw him. And he 
never left them. That's what put us on the 
trail. Some men fishing in the mountains 
passed him. He tried to signal 'em. Yes, 
sir — that's what he tried to do. But they 

didn't catch on. Next day they read in the 
papers about a boy and an Irish setter being 
lost. Then they understood, and telephoned 
Mr. Earle." 

" The woman that came in -with the 
mother and went upstairs with her," asked 
a man, " who's she ? " 

The big sheriff took the cigar 'out of his 
mouth and looked at the questioner with 
narrow, disapproving eyes. 
. " She didn't have a thing to do with it, 
sir I " he declared. 

From the dining-room came the sound of 
chairs^ushed back, and Frank rose to his 
feet. He met them at the door, he stood 
beside the boy while the people gathered 
around, he went upstairs with them, the 
boy holding tight to his heavy red mane. 

" That old Joe ! " Tommy was saying as 
they went down the hall. " He can't get 
us any more. The sheriff he locked him 
up in a jail. He can't get Nita, either. 
She's going home to live with us. Mummy 
says so ! " 

He was still talking, his eyes big, when 
they went into a bright-lighted room where 
a little bed sat beside a big one. He was 
still talking while his mother undressed him. 
Then before he got' into bed a spasm of 
virtuous reaction seized him. He and Frank 
were never going to leave the garden any 
more, he declared. They were never going 
to get in any more motors with people ! 

" No," smiled Earle from his great height/ 
" I think you're cured, old man ! " "■ * ' 

The rug beside Tommy's bed was very 
soft, and Frank was very tired. But some 
time in the silent darkness of that night he 
barked hoarsely in the agony of a dream. 
For they were on top of a mountain, and a 
weird moon had risen and a woman had 



Hearts — 7, 3. 

Spades — Queen, 6. 

Clubs — King, queen, 10, 9. 

Spades— None. 
Clubs— Knave, 8, 7, 
6, 5. 4, 2. 

Hearts— 10, 9. * 
Spades — King,knave, 

Clubs— Ace, 3. 

Hearts — Ace, queen, 8, 4. 
Spades — Ace, 7, 5, 4. 
Clubs — None. 

Hearts are trumps. A to lead. A B to make six tricks against any defence. 




This case is regarded by criminologists es 
in many respects the strangest an record. 


T T 



WHEN Dickens 
visited Bos- 
ton in 1842, 
amongst the emi- 
nent men who were 
presented to him 
was John White 
Webster, a distin- 
guished graduate 
of Harvard, and 
a man who had 





personality and charm as well as considerable 
intellectual gifts, He was very fond of enter- 
taining, and it must have afforded him the 
keenest pleasure to have been a participator in 
the programme drawn up by the generous 
Boston! a ns in honour of the great English 
novelist. In that city of sound learning and 
profound scholarship J. W. Webster, M.A., 
M.D., Ewing Professor of Chemistry and 
Mineralogy in Harvard University, member 
of the Massachusetts Medical Society, of the 
American Academy of Arts and Sciences, of 
the London Geological Society, and of the 
St. Petersburg Mincralogical Society, was 
not the least of a community which contained 
some of the most renowned persons in the 
United States. Dickens doubtless forgot 
all about Dr. Webster when he left Boston, 
but twenty-five years later the novelist made 
a special pilgrimage to the Medical College in 
Grove Street to inspect the locus of the 
crime which in the meantime had given 
the professor an unhappy notoriety • For the 
genial doctor, the popular society man, 
the cultured scientist, and the indulgent 

parent committed one of the 
most fiendish murders to be 
found in the long and dark 
annals of crime* We have 
had his prototype in Great 
Britain, but, after all, Palmer 
and Prit chard were tenth- rate 
practitioners, provincial 
sciolists who had no preten- 
sions to Dr, Webster's attain- 
ments, and in the gallery of 
scoundrels the Harvard pro- 
fessor is unique. 

The root cause of Webster's 
downfall was extravagance* 
The pursuit of science seldom 
results in the overtaking of 
a fortune, and the professor, 
ii^LuST&AT&n b^ heedless of this, lived at 
DUULEr TENMANT a »<* which threatened bank- 

ruptcy. Conscious of his 

superiority, he wished for 
opportunities to emphasize it, and, conse- 
quently, he was in the habit of giving dinner- 
parties at his pleasant residence at Cam- 
bridge, a suburb of Boston, and taking the 
lead socially when the Medical College did 
not claim his services. As he had no private 
means, and as his earnings prohibited extra- 
vagance, Webster was never out of debt* 
He borrowed from friends and acquain- 
tances, and. knowing that he was dealing 
with men of honour, he bound each of them 
to secrecy f and in this way managed to 
maintain his reputation. 

Almost the first person he approached 
with a request for a loan was Dr, George 
Parkman, who practised medicine at 8, 
Walnut Street, Boston, The latter's brother. 
Dr. Francis Parkman, was a well-known 
preacher, and Webster was not only one of 
his parishioners but a close personal friend, 
George Parkman, who was passionately 
attached to the products of the United 
States Mint, did not refuse the professor's 
request, believing that it provided him with 
a safe investment. What interest he ex- 
tracted is not known, but the lender was too 
fond of money to be likely to lend any with- 
out a profit. In 1842 he began to advance 
moderate amounts to Webster, who repaid 
and borrowed again, and gave Dr, Parkman 
to understand that he borrowed from no one 
else. But there were always crises in the 
Webster nienage t and the harassed professor 
often had to appeal to others to save him 

For more thifi^f^Blre Webster led this 




double life. Never absent from his place in 
the Medical College, lie was regarded as a 
model teacher and worthy of his distinguished 
position. His lectures were well attended 
and his researches characteristic of the 
inquiring scholar. It was nothing unusual 
for Professor Webster to lock himself in 
his laboratory for many hours whilst he 
experimented. He had a special suite of 
rooms reserved for his ow f n exclusive use at 
the college, and they contained so many 
dangerous chemicals that they were very 
rarely entered by strangers. 

In the early autumn of 1849 Professor 
Webster's position was apparently an envi- 
able one, but for all that he must have 
daily expected an explosion under his feet. 
He must have been well aware that the 
tall, sallow-skinned Dr. Parkman, pigeon* 
chested and with legs and arms like sticks, 
would not be satisfied with excuses much 
longer. Parkman was the one man of whom 
the professor was afraid. 

The final crisis originated in a most trivial 
incident. One day Dr. Parkman and his 
brother-in-law, Mr. Shaw, passed Webster 
in the street and, reminded of his personality, 
started to discuss him. 

" By the way,'* said Shaw, who w r as a well- 
to-do merchant, " what salary does Dr. 
Webster get at Harvard ? * 

11 Twelve hundred dollars a year," an- 
swered Parkman, who was only too well 
acquainted with the professor's financial 

t4 That's not enough/* Shaw exclaimed, 
with warmth. "No wonder he's had to 
mortgage his collection of minerals to me for 
a sum equal to his annual salary. I'm not 
surprised he's hard up/' 

H+ What do you mean ? " said Parkman, 
sharply, "If Webster has given you his 
cabinet of minerals he had no right to, for 
I've already got a mortgage on them and, 
in fact, on all he possesses/' 

The news startled the merchant, and when 
his brother-in-law insisted upon taking him 
to his house in Walnut Street and showing 
him the papers in Dr. Webster's hand- 
writing, giving him — Dr, Parkman — all his 
property as security for money lent, he 
realized that the smooth-tongued professor 
had committed a criminal act. But he was 
good-natured and easy-going, and he never 
had any intention of taking advantage of 
his discovery to compel his debtor to return 
the twelve hundred dollars. Not so, how- 
ever, Dr. Parkman. He was infuriated, and 
there and then he declared that, he would 
call on Webster and give him if a piece of his 

There is no doubt of the fact that Parkman 
and Webster had a stormy interview in the 
latter^ rooms at the Medical College, and 

that the doctor threatened to expose the 
professor and ruin him if he did not pay 
back the borrowed money. Parkman could 
have caused Webster's expulsion from Har- 
vard by informing the President of the 
University of what had happened, and, of 
course, it was his duty to have done so, but, 
knowing that mere exposure would result in 
the loss of the hundreds of dollars lie had 
advanced, he consented to wait a few months 
longer. For the honour of Harvard he 
ought to have suffered the loss of the 



THit portrait and 'k*i; $} IM\ IT^s^-r oh tkt pr*ir«j*« pape an from 


the I 



comparatively trivial amount owed him, 
but Dr. Parkman's love of money made him 
forget his duty to his alma mater and pay the 
penalty with his life. 

Webster was now in the depths. But 
even when danger threatened most he 
could not act honestly. When Parkman 
had taxed him with fraud and had threatened 
to have him removed from his post he had 
saved himself by promising to settle the 
account between them by handing over to 
Parkman the proceeds from the sale of the 
tickets admitting to his lectures, This was 
a special source of income which supple- 
mented the small salary, and Parkman, who 
was able to estimate the amount likely to be 
received, agreed to stay his hand. 

The anxious, grasping, implacable creditor, 
however, was destined to be deceived again, 
for Webster ob- 
tained the ticket* 
money from the 
agent and util- 
ized it to settle 
another pressing 
debt. It was an 
act of madness 
on his part, but 
his brain must 
have been 
affected by 
worry at the 
time. Whatever 
the reason, as 
soon as Parkman 
learned how he 
had been out- 
witted he became 
infuriated, and, 
not content with 
calling the pro- 
fessor a swindler 
to his face, wrote 
down his opinion 
of him and sent 
it to the college 
by a special 

From now on- 
wards it was a 
battle o f wit s 
between the two 
men. They 
were physical 

as well as temperamental opposite*, Webster 
big and burly P with massive forehead 
and genial expression ; Parkman wizened 
and miserable -loo king, despite his height, 
but shrill- voiced and threatening, aware 
that his knowledge of Webster's secret was the 
source of his strength- The debtor \s only com- 
pensation was the realization that Parkman 
would not make public his fraud until he had 
abandoned all hope of being re 




A week of failure on Parkmati's part to 
interview Webster was marked by a surprise 
visit from the professor himself. Appar- 
ently convinced that it would be dangerous 
to exacerbate his enemy, he astonished him 
by calling at his house in Walnut Street, 

"If you will come to the Medical College 
at half-past one to-day/' he said, coldly, " I 
will pay you every dollar I owe you/' 

Dr + Parkman was delighted, and expressed 
his intention of being punctual to the 
minute. The day was Friday, November 
23rd, 1849, and at one o'clock all the students 
would leave the building and the professor 
would be the only occupant. But if Dr. 
Parkman thought of this it could not have 
struck him as being significant. 

When he set out for the Medical College 
Parkman stopped at a greengrocer's to buy 
a lettuce for his invalid daughter, 
and he requested the shopkeeper to 
take care of it for him for an hour, 
as he had an appointment in the 
neighbourhood. His request was 
granted readily, but the doctor 
never entered that shop again. 

Arriving at the college he was 
admitted by Webster, who con- 
ducted him to his own apartments, 
and, having waited for a favourable 
opportunity, struck him down from 
behind > brutally murdered him, and 
then summoned all his chemical 
skill in an effort to get rid of the 
body, For hours 
the professor 
worked, dis- 
membering and 
boiling the body 
of his victim 
and bringing to 
his aid all the 
resources of 
medical scien.v. 
The crime was 
committed not 
to save a few 
hundred dollars 
but to save his 
character, and 
it was the last 
desperate effort 
of a despairing 
man. It was in 
in the habit of 


his favour that 
remaining after 




the usual hours in his 
laboratory, and that it was not uncommon 
for him to keep the boiler fire going until 
midnight. Fully aware that he could not 
be convicted of murder unless the body 
was identified, lie laboured to render it 
unrecognizable and to obliterate all traces 
of Dr. George Parkman as he had appeared 
in real life. Original from 



L 7:> 

That evening the murderer returned home 
and with his daughters went to a party 
in the neighbourhood. He would have pre- 
ferred to spend the night in his laboratory, for, 
although a skilful chemist and anatomist, he 
was experiencing great difficulty in destroying 
the body of his victim ; but the professor 
had to maintain his reputation for respect- 
ability at any cost and to pose before his 
acquaintances. On .Sunday he attended 
church and listened to an eloquent sermon 
by the brother of the man he had murdered, 
and the same afternoon he informed the 
Rev. Dr. Parkman that his relative, whose 
disappearance had created a sensation, had 
called at the Medical College on the day he 
had been seen for the last time in Boston. 

Webster had, of course, to act a part, but 
he overdid it. As an old friend of the 
Parkman family, he ought to have been 
more perturbed by the mystery than he 
appeared to be, but in all probability he was 
afraid of displaying emotion for fear it 
might be mistaken for remorse or terror. 

Dr. Parkman's agent, Mr. Kingsley, was 
most active in the search, and he had come 
to the conclusion that the mystery began, if 
it did not end, in the building in Grove 
Street, for he had with infinite trouble and 
patience traced every movement of the 
missing man on Friday, November 23rd, 
until twenty minutes to two, when he had 
been seen close to the Medical College. 

No one as yet suspected Professor Webster, 
however. Human nature is frail, but it 
seemed impossible that the popular Harvard 
teacher could use violence of any sort, and 
when he told the Rev. Dr. Parkman and Mr. 
Kingsley that he had paid Parkman some 
hundreds of dollars on the fatal Friday, and 
suggested that he had been murdered for it, 
there was a general inclination to believe 
him. There were, however, two exceptions. 
One was the agent, and the other Ephraim 
Littlefield, the college janitor, a sturdy servi- 
tor who had never liked the professor. 

On the Monday following his crime the 
murderer came to the conclusion that he 
must keep the searchers away from Grove 
Street, and accordingly he wrote an anony- 
mous letter to Francis Tukey, the City 
Marshal. Webster considered it. a cunning 
move, but it was in reality a very stupid 
one. In all he wrote three letters, two pur- 
porting to come from the leader of a gang of 
roughs and a party of kidnappers, the last 
claiming to be the work of a respectable 
citizen disturbed by the mystery. 

The first effort in illiteracy read : — 

Dr, Sir, 

You will find Dr. Parkman 
• Murdered on brooklynt 

heights, yours, M. 
Captain of the Darts. 

The City Marshal was then favoured with 
another mysterious communication : — 

Dr. Parkman was took 
on Bord the ship herculun 
and this is al I dare to say 
as I shal be kild 
Est Cambge, one of 
the men 
give me his watch 
but I was feared to ■ 
keep it and throwd 
it in the water rigt side 
the road to the 
Cam bige to 

The third letter showed no signs of such 
illiteracy : — 

Dear Sir, — I have been considerably in- 
terested in the recent affair of Dr. Parkman, 
and think I can recommend means, the adop- 
tion of which might result in bringing to light 
some of the mysteries connected with the dis- 
appearance of the afore-mentioned gentleman. 

In the first place, with regard to the searching 
of houses, etc., I would recommend that par- 
ticular attention be paid to the appearance of 
cellar floors ; do they present the appearance 
of; haying t>een recently dug into and covered up 
again ; or might not the part of the cellar where 
he was buried have been covered by piling of 
wood ? Secondly, have the outhouses been 
carefully examined ; have they been raked 
sufficiently ? 

Probably his body was cut up and placed in a 
stout bag, containing heavy weights, and thrown 
off one o{ the bridges — perhaps Craigie's. And 
I would recommend the firing of cannon from 
some of these bridges, and from various parts of 
the harbour and river, in order to cause the parts 
of the body to rise to the surface ot the water. 
This, 1 think, will be the last resort, and it should 
be done effectually. 

And I recommend that the cellars of the 
houses in East Cambridge should be examined. 
Yours respectfully, Civis. 

All three letters were put in at the trial 
and declared by handwriting experts to be 
the work of Dr. Webster. 

The excitement in Boston when the news 
of Dr. Parkman 's disappearance was pub- 
lished was intense. He was a " character," 
and, if not popular, was at any rate respected. 
Search parties were organized ; the city 
offered a reward of a thousand dollars for 
information, to which the family added 
three thousand. It became the sole topic 
of conversation, and one of the few men who 
could discuss it calmly was Professor Web- 
ster. The general belief that his old friend 
was murdered scarcely affected him, and he 
remained the same hard-working scholar 
and teacher. 

But Ephraim Littlefield's suspicions could 
not be killed, although, when he broached 
them to Dr. Jaickson and Dr. Bigelow, two 




of the professors of Harvard, they implored 
him to be careful, The janitor, seeing that 
he must produce some sort of proof, set to 
work on his own account, and, having forced 
an opening into the vault beneath the pro- 
fessor's laboratory, he saw sufficient to 
justify him in making a further disclosure to 
his employers. From thence onwards events 
moved rapidly, and friends and admirers of 
the suspect had the extremely painful ex- 
perience of working in secret to hang their 

On the night of his arrest Dr. Webster was 
entertaining a few neighbours in his com- 
fortable residence at Cambridge, when a cab 
drew up before the <h>or r A moment later 
Mr. Clapp, a police official, knocked, and was 
admitted by the professor. The caller had 
a warrant for his arrest, but, shrinking from 
inflicting pain on the family by effecting a 
humiliating capture, he informed him that 
it had been decided to make a search at the 
Medical College in Grove Street, and that he 
would be obliged if the professor would 
accompany hira there and superintend the 

It is very probable that Webster, who 
must have been tortured day and night by 
anticipations of such a scene, guessed imme- 
diately that he 

was in the grip 
of the law, but, 
whatever his 
feelings, h i s 
hand was 
steady as he 
lighted a cigar 
and stepped 
into the cab. 
For some min- 
utes he chatted 
with Clapp, as 
if unconscious 
of the presence 
of the other 
policemen, and 
it was not 
until he noticed 
1 hat they were 
not going in 
the direction of 
Grove Street 
that he exhi- 
bited signs of 

"Why, this 
is not the Medi- 
cal College ! " 
he exclaimed, 
as -the cab 
stopped out- 
side a gloomy 

"No, sir", it is 


not/' answered Clapp, laying a hand on his 
arm as he stepped out. " It is my pain- 
ful duty to inform you. Dr. Webster, 
that you are accused of the murder of Dr. 

The prisoner's terror paralyzed him, and 
he had to be carried to a cell and attended 
by a doctor before he could utter a word. 
But guilt could be read in his expression and 
despair in his demeanour, for the expert 
chemist and anatomist knew that he had 
failed to destroy all evidences of his terrible 

Gradually it was conveyed to him that 
part of the remains of Dr, Parkman had 
been discovered in the furnace of his labora- 
tory, in the vault underneath it, and in a 
tea-chest at the Medical College. A half- 
hearted attempt was made to divert sus- 
picion towards Ephraim Little field ; that 
was succeeded by the creation of a rumour 
that the bones, etc., really belonged to one 
of the subjects of the college and had been 
smuggled into Professor Webster's rooms by 
some mischievous students* 

Nearly five months elapsed before he was 
brought to trial, and his skilful legal advisers 
took full advantage of the delay. Their 
chief hope was based on the difficulties of 

the prosecution 

in establishing 
the identity of 
the remains, 
for it was com- 
mon know- 
ledge that a 
shrewd Boston 
jury, composed 
of hard -headed 
men with a 
passion for 
facts and with 
strong religious 
feelings, would 
not consign to 
a shameful 
death a gentle- 
man of hitherto 
character be- 
cause a few 
bones and some 
human flesh 
had been found 
in his rooms in 
a building de- 
voted to medi- 
cal research. 
the defence had 
succeeded in 
finding five 
respectabl e 

Fnm Ihotim paver \VmHm^\^^f^^ { ^j*Ql[]g^ ^peTSOIlS who 

ExIllHBitM *f ItM DldBI-BH. 

I. A ftpt »ih1l h connecting wilh ihe i^ulitjr 
a *m»H pipe. 

2 ^iiik.wjiiiCidi.iJutwi'ir 

3- $14 TC. 

4. >i(;iir£ i*i* li'uili'15 from llif Laboratory la 
ibe Piukuor 1 ! privaLC ri>urfJ, iud GJJtirdrug the 

5' f-Y ■■"" unnjr-itirlrlj wider which iht pel- 
Til* ri^hilKlgh, nnJ lower part of ibf left kg ' 
were found,. 

(P- Furanfe, in which w*re found llrt miner- 

iiT lee ill ,. and khk JUall pari it tea of iiie thin 

7 Two lar|a uikl, tiitd fqr chemical pur. 

6 Tea cheH, in wfakt Lb* ihorax and left 
ihigh were A i»tu*«rcd . 

9- A eery large window, ortrlaoVing the 
wiiicr, and aboul lino led nbpT* it *i hjcU 

10. Ann-thec l-*rge windawp Lul no! aa wide 
lb 9;. also cTfrlookinfl ihe waiff . Both win- 
Juwi w nli t ..H lilirtijg pr fwi-iiii*. I £ -_ .-- 



were prepared to swear that they had seen 
Dr. George Parkman some hours after the 
time fixed by the prosecution as coinciding 
with his murder by Professor Webster, 
Finally, they 
decided in the 
interests of their 
client that, 
should the Court 
seem inclined to 
accept the iden- 
tification of the 
remains as those 
of the missing 
doctor, they 
would advance 
on their client's 
behalf that at 
the worst it was 
only a. case of 
manslaughter, a 
sudden quarrel 
over tn oney 
matters ending 
in a fight be- 
tween the two 
men, which re- 
sulted in the 
death of the 
aggressor, Dr, 

The trial lasted 
twelve days and 
was a very re- 
markable affair. 
Lemuel Shaw, 
a dignified Chief 
Justice, had 
three associate 
judges, and the 
Attorney -Gen- 
eral, John H + Clifford, and George Bemis 
prosecuted, the accused being defended by 
Pliny Merrick and Edward Sohier, The 
most important evidence was given by the 
medical experts summoned by the Gov- 
ernment, that of Dr. Keep p a well-known 
dentist of the time, being mainly responsible 
for the verdict of the jury + 

When Dr. Webster had slain his creditor 
and had dismembered him and had used 
the furnace to help him to destroy the body, 
he had not paid any special attention to the 
teeth of his victim. But a year previously 
Pr, Parkman had had a set of false teeth 
inserted, and his dentist had not had an 
easy task, for the doctor's mouth was very 
peculiarly shaped* When the remains were 
found in the laboratory, amongst them were 
some false teeth and part of the lower jaw. 
Now Dr, Keep, the dentist, had kept the 
cast he had made of Parkman 's mouth, and 
at the trial he demonstrated that those 
parts of the mouth recover 

"it is my pain* 


H<1git * 

perfectly, and also the false teeth. He was 
corroborated by his assistant, and cross- 
examination did not shake his evidence. 
Over a hundred witnesses were called, 

and four long 
speeches were 
delivered by the 
counsel engaged. 
Dr. Jared Sparks 
— who had been 
introduced to 
Charles Dickens 
with the prisoner 
a few years pre- 
viously, and who 
was now Presi- 
dent of Harvard 
— gener ousl y 
testified to the 
pood character 
W e b s t e r had 
borne in the 
community and 
in the college. 
Other men of 
eminence gave 
similar testi- 
mony, and, as 
already men- 
t ioned , citiz en s of 
swore that they 
had seen Dr. 
Parkman alive 
long after he was 
supposed to have 
been murdered 
by the Ewing 
Professor of 
Chemistry and 
Mineralogy. The prosecution asked per- 
mission to introduce rebutting evidence by 
proving that on the day of Dr. Parkman's 
murder a man had come to Boston who was 
very much like the doctor physically. How- 
ever, the judges would not allow- the Attorney- 
General to create a precedent, and it was left 
to the jurors to decide that the witnesses had 
been mistaken. 

Had it not been for the testimony of Dr, 
Keep the jury might have acquitted the 
prisoner. The twelve " good men and true " 
took their task with becoming seriousness, 
and each evening they held a prayer meeting, 
and when they retired to consider their 
verdict they prayed fervently before pro- 
ceeding to vote on the issues of the trial. 
A member of the jury afterwards wrote to 
the Boston Traveller describing what had 
happened in the jury-room. 

1 The foreman called upon a juror to 
offer prayer/; he said, " and this was done, 
most fedhtySPnmriro Sincerely. We then 





proceeded to the most trying and painful part 
of our arduous duty. The various articles 
which were put into the case were examined 
by the jury, and particularly those things 
which seemed to bear most strongly against 
the prisoner. The final decision of the 
question was resolved into three parts : — 

" First* Are the remains of a human 
body, found in the Medical College on the 
30th November, 
1 849, those of the 
late Dr. George 
Farkman ? 

"Second. Did 
Dr. George 
Pa i" km an come 
to his death by 
the hands of 
Dr + John W, 
Webster, on the 
23rd November, 
1849 ? 

,+ Third. Is Dr. 
John W.Webster 
guilty, as set 
forth in the in- 
dict men t h of the 
wilful murder 
of Dr, George 
Parkman ? 

" When the vote on the first question was 
put twelve hands arose immediately. Some 
little discussion then took place, when the 
second question was tested, and twelve hands 
at once arose. The third— the most impor- 
tant question of all — was next to be tried. 
A pause ensued. One juror— in his sym- 
pathies of kindness for the prisoner (who was 
his personal acquaintance or friend) and his 
afflicted family — shrank from the ' fiery 
ordeal/ ' Can't we stop here ? Can't the 
law be vindicated and justice satisfied if 
we pause here ? Must we take the life of 
the unhappy prisoner ? ' Some discussion 
ensued ; the mind of the juror seemed more 
calm, and he expressed his readiness to vote 
on the final question, which was then put, 
and twelve hands arose. The die was cast, 
and Dr. John \\\ Webster was pronounced 
guilty of murder," 

Sentence of death by hanging was passed 
by Chief Justice Shaw, and the prisoner 
was removed. Then followed the usual 
attempts to secure a new trial, and when 
they failed an effort was made to induce the 
Governor to pardon the unhappy convict. 
All the influence of the family, together with 
the assistance of benevolent friend*, was 
exerted, "hot without avail, and after a long 
delay the night came when ^Ycbster was 
informed that the next morning he would 
be executed. By that time he had become 
reconciled to his fate, and before he went 
to his death he confessed his crime. A few 

Digitized by ^OOQie 


hours later two relatives called to see him. 
They were informed that he was dead and 
that the body was at the disposal of lib 
family, for the date of the execution had 
been kept a secret, and all that remained to 
be done was to bury the corpse as quickly 
and as secretly as possible. 

Dickens, in a letter to Lord Lytton, gave 
a description of the scene of Webster's crime. 

"Being in 
Cambridge,' 1 he 
wrote in 1867, 
* I thought I 
would go over 
the Medical 
School and see 
the exact locali- 
ties where Pro- 
fessor Webster 
did that amaz- 
ing murder and 
worked so hard 
to rid himself 
of the body 
of the murdered 
man, (I find 
there is, of 
course, no 
rational doubt 
that the pro- 
fessor was alwa}^ a secretly cruel man,) 
They were horribly grim, private, cold, and 
quiet ; the identical furnace smelling fear- 
fully (some anatomical broth in it, I suppose), 
as if the body were still there ; jars of pieces 
of s:ur mortality standing about, like the 
for^y robbers in * Ali Baba J after being 
scalded to death ; and bodies near us ready 
to be carried into next morning *s lectures. 
At the house where I afterwards dined I 
heard an amazing and fearful story ; told 
by one who had been at a dinner-party of 
ten or a dozen, at Webster's, less than a 
year before the murder. They began rather 
uncomfortably, in consequence of one of 
the guests {the victim of an instinctive 
antipathy) starting up with the sweat pour- 
ing down his face, and crying out, * O 
Heaven I There's a cat somewhere in the 
room ! ' The cat was found and ejected, 
but they didn't get on very well Left with 
their wine, they were getting on a little 
better when Webster suddenly told the 
servants to turn the gas off and bring in 
that bowl of burning minerals which he had 
prepared in order that the company might 
see how they looked by its weird light. 
All this was done, and every man was looking 
horror-stricken at his neighbour, when 
UVbsier was srni bending over the bowl 
with a rope round his neck, holding up the 
end of the rope, with his head on one side 
and his tongue lolled out, to represent a 
hanged man:>igj na | from 




By F.Britten Austin. 

Illustrated by C.MPadday roj. 

H E s.s. Upsal, two 
thousand tons, the 
Swedish ensign at her 
taffrail, her one black - 
spouting funnel still 
daubed with remains 
of wartime camouflage, 
lifted and plunged doggedly into the 
teeth of the September south-west 
gale But her look-out no longer 
scrutinized every flitting patch of 
foam in apprehension nf the dreaded 
periscope. The violences of sea and 
sky were dangers as of yore. From 
the depths came now no menace. 

The group upon her bridge was 
more numerous than is customary 
on a cheaply-run little freighter of 
her class. In addition to the second 
officer, whose watch it was, and the 
look-out man on the opposite corner 
of the bridge, were three others. 
Two of them, young men oilskin-clad 
like their companions, stood close 
together in tin attitude which indi- 
cated a personal acquaintanceship 
independent of the working of the 
vessel. The third man held himself 

The buoyant twist and roll which 
accompanied the lift and plunge of 
the Upsal, the frequent racing of 
her propeller, indicated that she was 
running in ballast. Almost for the 
first time in her drab, maid -of -all- 
work career; indeed, the Upsal carried 
no cargo. She was on a special mis- 
sion. A Scandinavian salvage syndi- 
cate, having come to an arrangement 






with the underwriters of a few out of 
the hundreds of vessels which strew the 
bottom of the entrances to the British 
seas, had chartered her to locate and 
survey a group of promising wrecks, 
preparatory to more extended opera- 
tions. The two young men were their 
technical engineers ; Jensen, the taller 
of the pair, and Lyngstrand, his 

The third man, who stood aloof from 
them, was Captain Horst, the master 
of the ship. He was, of course, pri- 
marily responsible to his owners, and 
not to the syndicate who had chartered 
his vessel. Until they reached the 
location of the wrecks the submarine 
engineers were merely passengers. 
Reticent and sombre as he had been 
since the commencernent of the voy- 
age, he ignored them now, stood appa- 
rently lost in abstract contemplation 
of the grey waste of sea. But one 
who could have looked into his face 
would have been impressed and 
puzzled by his expression. His glance 
looked down, apparently fascinated, 
upon the seas which raced below him 
as the Upsal lifted on yet another 
crest, as though there were something 
strange in being so high above them — - 
and then jerked up, automatically, to 
the horizon as in swift, instinctive 
doubt of impunity, A psychologist 
would have suspected that he allowed 
a fear of some kind, so long-abiding as 
to have become a subconscious mental 
habit, the relief of free play w T hen ho 
knew himself unwatched. 

Copyright, 19?^ by F. LtritEen Austin. 



When at last there was no object to claim 
the eye on all the tumultuous .stretch of 
ocean ahead, Jensen turned to his companion 
and pointed downwards. Lyngstrand nodded 
assent, and they both staggered across the 
wet, reeling bridge towards the ladder which 
led below. 

The skipper, staring aft, his back to 
them, blocked their passage. Jensen touched 
him on the shoulder. He swung round 
abruptly with a startled curse. Then, recog- 
nizing them, he moved aside grudgingly. 
His face was turned from them as they 

The two young men descended to the 
deck below. They were berthed in the 
saloon under the poop, but they took their 
meals in the chart-house immediately be- 
neath the bridge, in company with the 
skipper, who slept there. In addition to meal- 
times, the chart-house was a convenient 
refuge from the weather common to all of 
them. It was their objective now. 

" Filthy weather ! " said Jensen, pro- 
ducing pipe and tobacco-pouch. " But we 
ought to get there to-night. We're changing 
course now to the north-west. Feel it ? " 

Jensen, having lit his pipe, produced a 
type-written sheet of paper from his pocket. 
It was a list of ships, followed by indications 
of latitude, longitude, and other particulars. 

" No. i — Gloucester City, seven thousand 
five hundred tons, latitude fifty degrees 
fifty -five minutes north, longitude nine 
degrees fourteen minutes west, sixty 
fathoms, torpedoed Sejftember 20th, 1918," 
he read out. " Get the chart, Lyngstrand, 
and let us prick down its exact position." 

His fair-haired junior obediently spread 
out a chart of the exit to the English Channel 
upon the table. 

" September 20th ! " he said, reflectively. 
" That's curious, Jensen ! Exactly a year 
ago to-day ! " 

1 Coincidences must happen sometimes," 
replied Jensen, with the superior indifference 
of three or four years' seniority. " I see 
nothing remarkable in it." 

'' It just struck me, ' said Lyngstrand, 
apologetically. " No — I suppose there's 
nothing remarkable in it — it might just as 
well have been any other day." 

Jensen threw a cursory glance at the chart. 

41 You've brought the wrong one." he 
said, snappily. " This doesn't go far enough 
north. Look in the drawer there — there 
must be another one." 

"It is up in the wheelhouse, I think, 
Jensen," demurred the young man, mildly. 

'* Yes — I know — but old Horst is certain 
to have a duplicate. Look in the drawer 
and see ! " replied Jensen, with an impatience 
invited by the docility of his junior. 

Lyngstrand obeyed, rummaging among a 

number of charts in the drawer of the locker 
under Captain Horst's bunk. 

" Here we are ! " he cried at last, unrolling 
one of them. " This isNt special one, evi- 
dently ! Someone has marked it all over 
with red ink." 

Jensen snatched it from him, spread it 
out. In fact, as Lyngstrand said, it was 
marked in many places with little red-ink 
crosses, and under each- was a date. Jensen 
ran his finger across it, stopped just off the 
south coast of Ireland. 

" By all that's wonderful ! " he cried, in 
a slow, long-drawn accent of amazement, 
raising his head and looking at his com- 
panion. " He has marked our wreck ! Look ! 
— Fifty-fifty-five north, nine-fourteen west — 
and there's the date under it — 20-0-18 ! " 

" Then all those other crosses ? " 

queried Lyngstrand, in a voice of puzzled 

" They must be Wait a minute ! " 

He compared some of them with the indica- 
tions on his list. " Yes ! They are wrecks, 
too — all torpedoed ships — look ! this and this 
and this are marked on the chart ! There 
are others not marked — but there are many 
more marks than there are ships on our li t. 
They must be all torpedoed ships ! " 

"But why?" asked Lyngstrand. "Why 
ha* he got them all marked like this ? Where 
did he get this chart, I wonder ? " 

Jensen glanced to the bottom of the sheet. 

" This is a German chart ! " he exclaimed. 

Lyngstrand stared at him. 

" German ! " he began, and stopped. 

They looked into each other's eyes in a long 
moment when suspicion defined itself as 
almost certitude. For that moment they 
forgot the sickly rolling of the shig thrashing 
and wallowing on her way to one of those 
tragic little red crosses. They forgot every- 
thing except the slowly-dawning possible 
corollaries of this discovery. 

Before either could utter another word, 
the lee door of the chart-house opened and 
Captain Horst stood framed in the entrance. 
He glared across at them, his face livid with 
a sudden anger, his eyes blazing. Then, 
with a scarcely articulate but vehemently 
muttered oath, he sprang across the little 
room, snatched the chart from the table, 
thrust it into the drawer, locked it up, and 
put the key in his pocket. He uttered an 
exclamation of angry contempt and. with- 
out further speech, walked out of the 

The two young men looked at each other. 

" That is the second time this morning 1 lf 
said Jensen, at last, glancing towards the 
door, now once more closed on them. 

" What is ? " asked Lyngstrand, curiously. 

" That he has cursed in German ! Lyng- 
strand ! I am beginning to see into this ! " 



** But it's impossible ! " exclaimed Lyng* 
strand, his nvind leaping to his iriend's 
deduction and a then rejecting it. * l He is a 
Swede, like ourselves ! 

" He is a German ! 5J said Jensen, positively, 

"But he speaks Swedish without a trace 
of accent ! w 

" And other languages also, I expect — 
French and English as well — better than 

* Even German ex- naval officers have to 
live, my friend/' responded Jensen, axiornati- 
cally. H And — I ask yon — what is open to 
them but to take service in the mercantile 
marine of other nations ? There is no more 
German fleet — there are not enough merchant 
vessels left under the German flag to employ 
all their trained officers. On the other hand, 
all the Scandinavian nations have multiplied 
their trading fleets— they 
cannot find officers enough 
^ for them, A first-class sea- 

man like Horst, speaking 
Swedish like a native, 
would find plenty of 
owners only too willing 
to employ him," 

M It sounds plausible/ 1 
agreed Lyiigstrand, but 
somewhat doubtfully. 

Plausible ! " repeat cd 
Jensen, scornfully. It 


you or I speak them, I have no doubt. 
Swedish would much facilitate service in the 
Baltic^and your German naval officer was 
linguistically well equipped for any possible 

'* German naval officer!" echoed Lyng- 
strand, incredulouslv. 

I will bet on it ! " asserted his friend. 
But — a German naval officer command- 
ing a rotten little tramp like the Upml ? " 
said Lyngstrand, emphasizing his incredulity, 
" I can't believe it ! " 
Vol, ii*,-ia 

is more than plausible— the more I think of 
it, the more certain I am. He is a German 
naval officer, I will swear to it ! More than 
that, I am convinced that he commanded a 
submarine ! " 

11 That chart, then ? M 
" Is the chart of his sinkings ! " 
1 By God ! " said Lyngstrand, solemnly, 
setting his teeth and staring sternlv at the 

chart-house wall. " If I were sure of it " 

f What do you mean ? " asked Jensen, 
stru(flkf.|jyg|^fiC^tKUic]j disngL- from his friend's 



ordinarily meek demeanour. " What has it 
to do with you ? " 

Lyngstrand turned to him with a bitter little 
laugh. He seemed, indeed, a different man. 

" More than you think, my friend," he 
said, briefly. " I am not good company for 
U-boat commanders ! " 

" But why ? You lost no one ? " 

Lyngstrand 's serious eyes held his. 

" You remember I went to America in 
I 9 I 7» Jensen ? I met a girl there — we were 
betrothed. She was coming to Europe to 
me last year. She never arrived. Her ship 
— a neutral — a small Norwegian ship, the 
Trondhjetn, on which I had arranged for her 
passage — was torpedoed in the Atlantic last 
September — spurlos versenkt ! " He finished 
in a tone of bitter mimicry, and then sud- 
denly hid his face in his hands through a 
silence which Jensen felt incapable of break- 
ing. At last he looked up again. " If ever 

I trace the scoundrel who murdered her^ " 

The ugly menace in his voice supplied the 
final clause to his unfinished sentence. 

" A difficult task ! " murmured Jensen, 

Lyngstrand glanced at the closed drawer 
of the locker. 

" When I think that perhaps on that 

chart — one of those little red crosses " 

He crashed his hand upon the 'table. " By 
God, Jensen, 1 would give something to 
have another look at it ! " 

Jensen laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. 

" We will do our best, Lyngstrand, to see 
it again. But don't torture yourself about 
it now. Come out on deck. The barometer 
is rising, and if the sea goes down to-morrow 
we shall want to keep clear heads for our 
investigation of the Gloucester City, Come ! " 

He rose and held out his friend's oilskins, 
helped him on with them. 

They went out and stood in the shelter 
of the lee-deck, watching the foam*froth 
sink down and melt in the depths of the 
malachite waves that rolled away from them, 
until soon after eight bells the white-jacketed 
steward clanged out his announcement of 

" I think the weather is moderating, 
Captain Horst," Jensen said, pleasantly, as 
he sat down. 

" Ja," responded Captain Horst, gruffly, 
throwing a perfunctory glance through the 
unshuttered forward windows of the chart- 

" We ought to reach the neighbourhood of 
our wreck some time to-night ? " pursued 
Jensen, in affable inquiry. 

Lyngstrand had addressed himself in 
silence to the food the steward set before him, 
but he glanced up as though some under- 
tone of significance in his friend's voice had 
caught his ear. 

" Thereabouts," conceded Captain Horst, 
in a tone which sufficiently indicated that 
he was disinclined for conversation. 

But Jensen was cheerfully loquacious. 

" I wonder whether we shall hit on some 
other wreck instead ? " he surmised. " These 
seas must be strewn with them." 

Captain Horst shrugged his shoulders. 

Lyngstrand looked up. 

11 If I were a German U-boat commander," 
he said, with a quiet deliberation, his eyes 
straight on Captain Horst 's face, " I should 
not dare to sail over these seas again. I 
should see drowning faces sinking through 
every wave." 

His last sentence seemed to ring through 
the silence which followed it. Captain Horst 
sat impassive, but his brutal jaw locked 
hard and his cruel mouth thinned during 
the moment in which he returned Lyng- 
strand 's glance. 

" Bah ! " he said. " The dead don't come 
back ! " There was something of defiance 
in his harshly contemptuous tone. " They 
are finished with — for ever ! " 

The blood went out of Lyngstrand 's face 
as he bent down again to his plate. 

There was no further conversation during 
the meal. 

When, a little after four bells, they were 
summoned to tea, the sun was setting in 
a golden splendour that promised a peaceful 
dawn. The gale had obviously blown itself out. 

Excited by the prospect of the next day's 
work, the two young men forgot their sus- 
picions of Captain Horst, could talk of nothing 
but their plans for diving despite the after- 
swell of the gale which would surely still 
be running. The captain listened to their 
impatience with the ghost of a grim smile, 
but volunteered no part in the conversation. 
/' Do you propose to keep under way all 
night, Captain Horst ? " inquired Jensen. 

" No," he replied. " By my dead reckon- 
ing we ought to be in the vicinity of the 
wreck at about eight bells to-night. I shall 
anchor then if the glass is still rising. To- 
morrow we will take an observation and get 
as close as we can to the position of the 
Gloucester City — presuming that you have it 
correctly stated." 

His tone was perfectly indifferent, but 
Lyngstrand thought suddenly of that chart 
with the little red crosses — and particularly 
that cross on their indicated spot, fifty 
degrees fifty-five minutes north, nine degrees 
fourteen minutes west, with the fatal date of 
exactly a year ago — 20-9-18. Surely it 
could not be mere coincidence ! He thrilled 
suddenly with a dramatic perception. If — 
if it were so — if the man so calmly smiling 
at him had really sent the Gloucester City to 
the bottom !— -and now, on the anniversary 
of the crimccp^ppyC^lWi proposing to anchor 



himself as near as might be over her 
ocean grave, preparatory to disturb- 
ing it on the morrow 1 No! He ridi- 
culed himself. No man could have 
the iron will— he glanced straight 
into the blue eyes of the impassive 
Horst, read nothing — no man could 
stand the strain without betraying 
himself. The thing was in 1 possible ! 
Another glance at the hard but 
emotionless face opposite him re- 
assured him. He banished his 
hyper -drama tic idea in a spurn of 
self-contempt for his too excitable 

The skipper and 
came together 
again some three 
hours later, when 
a glance at the 
clock reminded 
them that it was 
the hour when the 
steward brought 
biscuits and cocoa 
to the chart- 
house. The un- 
wonted stillness 
of the ship s 
engines was 
suddenly vivid 
to their con- 

his passengers 




sciousness as she eased and tugged at her 

" Come along/* said Jensen, lf Our cocoa 
will be cold," 

At the chart-house door they hesitated 
for a moment on an indefinable impulse, 
peeped through the unshuttered window 
which allowed a broad ray of light to fall 
across the deck. 

Captain llorst was seated at the table, 
his head in his hands, his back to them. 
Spread out before him was the chart with 
the little red crosses. He sat motionless, 

staring at it, as though absorbed in reverie. 
The three cups of cocoa were steaming on 
the table. His was untouched. 

For one wild moment Lyngstrand thought 
he might be able to surprise a glance at the 
chart. He turned the handle of the door as 
stealthily as he could, Slight as the sound 



ijn. Horst had heard 
M -lfle was stuffing 



something into his breast pocket, and the 
chart was no longer on the table. 

They drank their cocoa in silence, Horst 
staring moodily at the floor, Jensen and 
Lyngstrand risking a glance of mutual 
comprehension. Suddenly two loud, sharp 
knocks broke the stillness — knocks that 
seemed to be on the chart house wall. 

Captain Horst raised his head. 

" Herein ! " he cried, automatically, ob- 
viously without thinking. 

Jensen shot a swift look at his friend, 
eyebrows raised at this German permission 
of entry. Horst bit his lip, suddenly self- 
conscious. He repeated the authorization 
in Swedish. 

No one entered. 

Expectation was just passing into a vague 
surprise, when the knocks were repeated — 
three heavy blows, obviously deliberate, 
upon the after-wall of the chart-house. 

Horst sprang up, with a savage curse 
of exasperation. He was self -controlled 
enough, however, to utter his thought in 
Swedish. " I'll teach them ! " he exclaimed, 
as he flung open the chart-house door. 
" Fooling around here ! " 

He disappeared into the night, and they 
heard the tramp of his heavy sea-boots as 
he ran round the chart-house. But no other 
sound woke upon his passage. The circuit 
completed, they heard his angry yell to the 
look-out man on the bridge above, heard the 
quietly normal response, the surprised denial. 
The interior of the chart-house was a hushed 
stillness where Jensen and Lyngstrand 
sat exchanging a smile of malicious enjoy- 
ment. Horst vituperated the stammering 
look-out man in a flood of ugly oaths that 
were plainly a break-down of nervous control. 

The door opened again for his entry. 

" Extraordinary thing ! " he scowled across 
at them. " No one there ! You heard 
them, didn't you ? " He seated himself with 
an angry grunt. 

Before they could answer, the knocks 
recorr^lnenced in a sudden vehemence — not 
slow and deliberate this time, but in a rapid 
succession which quickened to a fast and 
furious fusillade from origins that seemed to 
play, flitting arbitrarily, all over the walls 
and roof. The chart-house reverberated 
with them. Their intensity varied at every 
moment from sharp, hammer-like blows to 
rapid, nervous taps from what might have 
been a feverishly agitated pencil. The wild 
and uncanny tattoo culminated in three 
crashing blows that seemed to be on the 
underside of the table itself. There was 

" What are you playing at ? " cried Horst, 
glaring at them in fierce suspicion of a hoax. 

For answer, they both lifted up their hands, 
obviously unoccupied, into the air. Even 

as they did so, the knocks started again, 
still rapid, but with a certain deliberate 
rhythm, and much less violent. Again they 
seemed to be on the underside of the table. 
Horst looked, with a scowl of distrust, under 
it to their immobile feet. The two young 
men glanced at each other, as puzzled and 
alarmed as Horst himself. 

" What in the name of Heaven is it ? " 
cried Jensen. 

The knocks swelled suddenly louder as 
though in answer to his voice. 

" Listen ! " said Horst, holding up his 
hand. The colour had gone suddenly out of 
his face, his eyes^ fixed themselves in a 
recognition charged with vague fear. 
M It's ! " 

" Yes ! " cried Jensen, " by ail that's 
wonderful I " 

" The Morse code ! " Lyngstrand com- 
pleted the sentence. 

Once perceived, there was no doubt of it. 

" But," cried Lyngstrand, " where does 
it come from ? We have no wireless — 
and even wireless could not produce that ! " 

" Listen ! " Jensen reproved him. " It's 
a message of some kind ! " He glanced 
across to Horst, who sat speechless, his face 
grey, his eyes terrified. " Not Swedish ! 
Take it down, Lvngstrand, while I spell it 
out ! " 

The young man feverishly produced pencil 
and paper from his pocket. " Listen ! " he 
cried. " Good God ! Do you catch it ? " 

Three sharp taps — three more widely 
spaced — three sharp taps again — the series 
was reiterated insistently — S-O-S ! — S-O-S ! 
— S-O-S ! 

" Ready, Lyngstrand ? " queried Jensen, 
in the sharp tone of a man concentrating 
himself for action. His comrade nodded. 

Jensen rapped sharply upon the table the 
wireless operator's signal of reception. In 
immediate answer the raps from the inviMble 
source renewed themselves, continued 
evidently in a message. Lyngstrand jotted 
down the letters as Jensen spelled them out. 

" ' s-t-e-a-m-s-h-i-p ' — it's English ! " he 

interjected. " Got it ? " The raps had 

continued, noted by his brain and coalesced 
bv it into definite words. M ' gloucc^tcr 
city ' " 

" What ? " ejaculated Lyngstrand, in 

incredulous amazement, as he rapidly wrote 
the words. 

Jensen continued, his attention fixed upon 
the unceasing raps. 

" torpedoed fifty- fifty -five north nine- 

fourteen west — sinking fast — come quickly — 
done in " 

He glanced up to see Horst springing at 
them like a maddened animal. 

" Stop that r }qj n <gr[ied the captain. " It's 
a trickj^^^^^wother second 



he had snatched paper and pencil from 
Lyngstrand 's hand. 

A formidable series of violent, 
emanating from walls, roof, and table, was 
the instant response to his action. He 
shrank back, appalled, crouching with eyes 
that searched the surrounding walls in 
agonized apprehension. " It's a trick ! — 
it's a l diabolical trick ! " he muttered. " 77 
must be ! " 

" Captain Horst ! " said Jensen, with 
sternly level authority. " Be good enough 
to sit down and remain quiet. All matters 
relating to the Gloucester City come within 
my province." 

Horst, his arms up as though to guard 
himself, went slowly backwards to his seat, 
but did not sit. There was madness in his 
eyes. " How could they know ? " — he said 
to himself, in a sharp-breathed whisper ; " the 
exact words ! " 

'* What do you mean ? " queried Lyng- 
strand, curiously. 

Horst replied without thinking, more to 
himself than to his questioner. 

" The exact words of her call for help — a 
year ago ! My wireless picked it up after 

we had left her " He stopped suddenly, 

realized that he had betrayed himself. 

" Then ! " cried Lyngstrand, jumping 

up from his seat and taking a step forward. 
His eyes, full of menace, searched the 
ex-U-boat commander's face. 

" Be quiet — both of you ! " commanded 
Jensen, holding up his hand. The regular 
succession of raps had commenced again. 
Jensen listened to them, nodded. Then he 
himself rapped a message in English on the 
table : " who are you ? " 

Horst and Lyngstrand listened in dead 
silence as the answer spelled itself out upon 
the table : — 

" h-e-n-r-y s-m-i-t-h w-i-r-e-l-e-s-s 

o-p-e-r-a-t-o-r g-l-o-u-c-e-s-t-e-r c-i-t-y." 

Jensen turned a glance of wonderment to 
his comrade. Horst, reading the message 
as currently as the others, looked as though 
about to faint. 

" Stop it ! " he said, hoarsely. " Stop it! " 

Jensen ignored him, rapped again upon 
the table : " where are you now ? " 

The answer came immediately : — 

" a-t y-o-u-r s-i-d-e." 

The three of them sprang back simul- 
taneously, as from the presence of a ghost. 
Their eyes probed empty air. 

Jensen spoke aloud, still in English. 

" Can you see us — hear us ? " 

The raps of the invisible hand upon the 
table replied at once : " y-e-s." 

41 Mein Gott ! " muttered Horst. " I shaU 
go mad ! " 

Jensen continued his colloquy. 

" Where is the Gloucester City ? " He 

smiled to himself as though setting a trap 
for this unseen intelligence. " Is she still 
afloat ? " 

The raps recommenced without hesitation. 

" y-o-u-r a-n-c-h-o-r f-i-x-e-d i-n u-p-p-c-r 

Lyngstrand uttered an ejaculation of awed 
astonishment. He looked to see the sweat 
pearling on Captain Horst 's forehead. 

The raps spelled out, spontaneously, an 
explanatory afterword : — 

" w-e l-e-d y-o-u t-o i-t." 

' ' We ? ' ' queried J ensen. ' ' Who are ' we ' ? " 

" t-h-e d-r-o-w-n-e-d." The raps were 

" Why ? " Lyngstrand admired his com- 
rade's steely self-control. " Why did you 
lead us to it ? " 

" h-e c-a-n g-u-e-s-s.*' 

" Who ? " 

" t-h-e m-u-r-d-e-r-e-r ." 

Both glanced swiftly at Horst. He was 
speechless, his face a study in blanched 

" h-e k-n-o-w-s," added the raps. There 
was something indefinably malicious about 
their sound. 

" Stop it ! " Horst's voice was strangled, 
scarcely audible. " Stop it ! " 

Jensen was unmoved. 

" How many of you ? " he asked. 

Lyngstrand, fascinated by this conversa- 
tion with the unseen, was grateful for the 

" t-h-r-e~e h-u-n-d-r-e-d a-n-d e~i-g-h-t 
g-l-o-u-c-e-s-t'e-r c-i-t-y h-u-n-d-r-e-d a-n-d 
f-i-v-e r-e-s-c-u-e-d o-t-h-e-r s-h-i-p-s f-o-u-r 
h-u-n-d-r-e-d a-n-d t-h-i-r-t-e-e-n i-n a-l-l** 

" All men ? " queried Jensen. 

" t-w-e-n-t-y -f-i-v-e w-o-tn-e-n." 

* 4 My God ! " muttered Lyngstrand, in a 
sudden vivid remembrance that stabbed him 
like a pain. He glanced at Horst. 

Jensen glanced also, and was merciless. 

" Are you all here ? " he asked. 

" y-e-s." There was a little pause. 
" h-u-n-d-r-e-d-s m-o-r-e I d-o-n-t k-n-o-w 
d-r-o-w-n-e-d o-t-h-e-r s-u-n-k s-h-i-p-s a-l-l 

Lyngstrand shivered, looked around him 
uneasily. Jensen's voice scarcely betrayed 
a tremor as he pursued : — 

" What have you come for ? " 

" w-e h-a-v-e c-o-m-e f-o-r h-i-m." 

" No ! No ! " screamed Horst, suddenly. 
" No ! Ach t Gott t schilt.:e mich ! " 

Both Lyngstrand and Jensen had a sense 
of inaudible mocking laughter in the air 
about them. There was an awful silence. 

The raps recommenced spontaneously. 

*' t-e-l-l h-i-m t-h-e-y a-r-e f-i-l-i-n-g p-a-s-t 
h-i-m i-d-e-n-t-i-f-y-i-n-g h-i-m.** 

Jensen turned to Korst. 

" ¥iffAR?rWi3HiSffl6.w ml y- 



But Horst, with a blood-curdling scream 
of terror, had flung himself at the chart- 
house door, thrown it open. They heard the 
hiss and sough of the dark seas. He plunged 
out, blindly, head foremost. Then, just 
beyond the threshold, he stopped, recoiled, 
staggered back into the chart-house. 

" No ! " he gasped, hoarsely. " No ! I 
can't face them I I can't face them ! I dare 
not jump ! I daren't ! " 

He shook in a palsy of the faculties. His 
eyes agonizedly sought their unsympathetic 
faces. The German submarine commander 
is a pariah among seafaring men, whatever 
their nationality. He realized it, hopelessly, 
as he met their hard eyes. With a sob of 
self-pity, he stumbled across to a corner of 
the chart-house, sank down upon the seat, 
covered his face with his hands. 

Lyngstrand's young features were sternly 
set as he glanced at him. Then he took a 
long breath, the preparatory oxygen-renewal 
of the man who dares an experiment that 
will tax him. He rapped the wireless " call- 
up " upon the table. 

" Can the others communicate also ? " he 
asked, loudly, in English. He also was 

The answer came at once. 

" o-n-l-y t-h-r-o-u-g-h m-e" There was a 
slight pause, then the raps recommenced 
again : " l-a-d-y h-e-r-e h-a-s a tn-e-s-s-a-g-e 
f-o-r p-e-t-e-r " — the raps hesitated — 
" p-e-t-e-r f-u-n-n-y n-a-m-e c-a-n-t c-a-t-c-h 


Lyngstrand's face went deathly white. 

" Yes/' he gasped, only just able to speak, 
" Peter — yes — go on ! " He looked at the 
table as though expecting to see the hand 
that was rapping out the message. Tap- 
tap- tap, it came. 

M p-e-t-e-r l-i-n-g-s-t-r-a-n-d." 

11 Yes— here ! " he gasped. " Goon ! Who 
is it ? " 

" m-a-r-y t-i-l-l-o-t-s-o-n." 

He reeled against the table, clutched at it. 

" My God ! " he murmured to himself, his 
eyes closing, his teeth grinding upon one 
another in an agony of emotion. Then, with 
a supreme effort of self-control, he asked, 
loudly : " The message ? Give it me ! " 

-< s-h-e s-a-y-s s~h-e s~u-r~e l-o-v-e-s y-o-u 
st-i-I-l a-n-d is w-a-i-t-i-n-g f-o-r y-o-u" 

" Mary ! " The cry burst from him, sob- 
bingly, on a note of poignant anguish. 
Jensen felt the tears start to his eyes. 
Horst cowered still) face hidden, in his corner. 

There was a long moment in which Lyng- 
strand failed to bring another sound to 
utterance. He swayed as though about to 
faint. Then once more he mastered himself. 

" What — what happened ? " he asked, un- 
steadily. " How did she die ? Was she 
torpedoed ? " 

" s-h-e s-a-y-s s-t~e-a-m-e-r t-r-o-n-d-h-j-e-m 
s-u-n-k g-ii-n-f-i-r-e r~e-s-c-*u-e-d s-m-a-l-l 
b-o-a-t b-y g-l-o-u-c-e-s-t-e-v c-i-t-y a-f-t-e-r- 
w-a-r-d-s t-o-r-p-e-d-o-e-d." 

Lyngstrand reeled with closed eyes. He 
had a vivid vision of the torn wreck in the 
depths beneath them, carnivorous fish darting 
where their anchor grappled its untenanted 

" Did — did they have a chance ? " he asked. 

" n-i-g-h-t w-i-t-h-o-u~t w-a-r-n-i-n-g, " 
came the answer. 

Lyngstrand drew another deep breath, 
glanced at the motionless Horst, 

" And — and the man — the man who sank 
her ? " 

" *-a-/>-i-/-a-w-/-^-w-/-w-a-«-^ h-o-r-s-t. " 
There was a terrible precision in those raps. 

They ceased. There was a deathly still- 
ness. Through long moments, not one of 
the three men in the chart-house moved. 
Then Lyngstrand turned slowly. He took 
three steps towards Captain Horst, stood 
over him. The only sounds were the creak- 
ing of gear as the Upsal rose and subsided 
on the swell, the swish and suck of the long 
waves that ran past her in the darkness 
beyond the open chart-house door. 

Lyngstrand's mouth had set in a thin line. 
His lips, compressed, opened but slightly as 
he spoke. 

" Captain Horst," he said, with grim 
distinctness, " you are certainly going to 
die. I give you the privilege of the warning 
you did not extend to your victims." 

Horst looked up suddenly. His eyes, blue 
still, but crazed with terror, fixed them- 
selves upon the grey eyes that met them 
pitilessly. His mouth moved under the little 
red moustache, but no sound came from it. 

Lyngstrand continued, an edge of fierce 
contempt upon his hard voice. 

" I even give you a choice. You can, if 
you like, go out there " — he pointed through 
the open door to the rayless night — " and 
throw yourself overboard " 

Horst sprang to his feet, recoiled into the 
extreme corner of the chart-house. 

" No ! " he screamed. " No ! " 

" or I shall kill you myself," pursued 

Lyngstrand, evenly. 

Horst's face contorted suddenly with 
demoniac passion. Jensen, who had ap- 
proached and was watching him closely, 
saw his hand dart to the pocket of his jacket, 
and he flung himself forward just as the 
revolver cracked. 

With a red-hot thrust through his shoulder, 
a sickening faintness in which the floor 
seemed to rise up to his knees, ' Jensen 
tottered back to the chart-house wall. 
Fighting for consciousness, he dimly saw 
his comrade hur! himself upon Horst — 

someon 0^r^fei?V#^ckAf holding a 




revolver, another arm high with it, clutching 
at the wrist below the weapon. 

Then commenced a terrible silent struggle, 
the only sounds being the short gasps and 
sobs of breath of the two men swaying with 
the motion of the ship- They hugged close, 
face upon face, in a murderous wrestle where 
neither dared shift his grip. Both were 
big-framed , powerful, but Lyngstrand had 
the advantage of youth, They came, inch 
by inch, slipping on the floor, past Jensen 
leaning dizzily against the wall. He saw r 
them through a red mist where the electric 
lamp glowed vaguely, unmoved like a 
nebulous star above the tensely locked 
embrace where life fought for human 

Inch by inch they moved onwards, Jensen , 
his vision clearing, though impotent to move, 
saw now that Lyngstrand had the inner 
berth, that Horst was being gradually, slowly 
but surely, thrust towards the open door. 
He saw one of Horst 's hands free itself J 
grip at the door-post, cling to it. He saw 

the awful terror in the eyes that glared 
upon his relentless adversary. 

Minute after minute the tense and silent 
struggle at the door continued. Still clutch- 
ing at the door-post, Horst was gradually 
borne backward. His feet still in the 
chart- house, his body, save for that one 
gripping band, was bent back out of sight 
into the darkness* 

Suddenly his fingers relaxed their hold. 
Their feet' tripped by the raised threshold 
of the door, both disappeared headlong in a 
heavy thud upon the deck outside, 

Jensen heard a sharp exclamation, the 
gasp of bodies that are rolled upon — then 
the quick scuffling of feet + Agonized for his 
comrade, he dragged himself painfully to- 
wards the door, Just as he reached it one 
ghastly piercing scream rang through the 

He gazed out to see two closely-locked 
bodies disappear over the bulwark, 

The dark se^s lifted a foaming crest aa 


al from 







Marshal Foch was one 
day asked the question : 
" What was your keenest 
emotion during the war ? " The 
great General, with characteristic 
abruptness, replied : " I felt none 

MOTIONS are no business of 
mine — none whatever. In 
war, emotions are out of 
place. " War is a series of 
situations, of problems, more 
or less delicate, more or less 
involved, which are set before 
us and which we have to solve. 

The first thing to do is to face the problem, 
to fix it keenly, and to ask t " What is the 
heart of the matter ? What is the thing 
to be done ? " 

Of course, no idea of retreat or of bending 
the line so far as to acknowledge defeat must 
be admitted for an instant. Anything rather 
than that. The ground must be held with 
whatever means are at hand. 

But here comes the important point — such 
means must be used to the best advantage. 
It is here that intelligence, mental effort, 
professional skill come into play. The 
grey matter of the brain must do its part. 
The whole mind must ghw with thought. 

Consider the Battle of the Marne, on the 
third day. Certainly our prospects were 
not shining. In order to stop the gaps 
which the Boches made in our lines, we had 
hardly any troops but those who had been 
tinder fire and who were utterly exhausted. 
But what I had clear in mind was this — if 
the battle had to rage for two, for three 
days longer, rage it must, for I should never 

The same thing happened at the Battle 
of the Yser. There, also, we had no easy 
time. There, also, our condition was by 

whatever I " — and, as 
his questioner appeared 
somewhat puzzled, he was 
good enough to explain his mean- 
ing for the benefit of a wider 

no means promising. One had to take, by 
hook or crook, whatever means were to be 
found at hand. 

A battle, in short, is always won with 
remnants. When night falls, everybody is 
worn out. The means at your disposal, 
which seem to you so. trivial, so precarious, 
turn out, after all, to be superior to the 
enemy's, if only you employ these means 
with skill and energy. 

It may be said, tn short, that Victory is the 
art of using up the scraps. 

On the 4th of April, 191 8, scarcely a week 
before I took over the supreme command 
of the armies of the Allies, I received a visit, 
at Beauvais, from Mr. Lloyd George, who, 
it is only just to him to state, did more 
than any man, from the beginning, to bring 
about this unity of command. The British 
Prime Minister asked me point-blank : " Shall 
I back Ludendorff or you ? " 

I replied, without hesitation : " You may 
back me safely. You will be sure to win 
your bet ! " 

I saw that Mr. Lloyd George was rather 
surprised at the confidence with which I 
spoke. I hastened to explain my reasons. 
" Ludendorff," I said, " is forced to keep 
attacking, while, for the time being, I have 
simply to defend. For the mpment I am 
content to keep him off — but my task is the 
easier, my chances better, and later on the 
scene will change. That is why I advise 
you to bet on me." 

Mr. Lloyd George took my counsel. He 

back ^^fF^^FMhlGAN 




' Holworthy Hall 


™j*vw,u U f#™ muwww . W i, 

ROMPTLY at nine o'clock 
the door burst open, and 
Steele rushed in, rampant 
and dynamic. 

He felt the stimulus of the 
bright November morning. 
He felt, too, the pulsing 
energy stored through his brief holiday. 
His face wore an exultant, boyish ^rin, due 
partly to the grandeur of promotion that 
was so newly his. He swept in as if to take 
his responsibilities by storm. 

When Miss Hastings, who happened to 
be looking toward the threshold as Steele 
crossed it, got the full and resplendent effect 
of that wide grin of his, she straightway 
went palpitant, 

Steele, catching sight of Miss Hastings, 
halted in mid -career ; and an expression 
of horrified amazement replaced his joyous- 
ness. For a searching moment they stared 
earnestly into each other's countenances, 
and simultaneously they wilted. To the 
mind of each leaped the conclusion that the 
last lingering hope of safety was dead for 
want of adequate nutrition. And Steele, 
who was now and then inclined toward the 
vernacular, expressed this mutual con- 
clusion inwardly when, as he stammered 
aloud, '* Oh ! Good morning ! " he whispered 
to his subliminal self, '* Good heavens ! " 

He remembered now that when his chief 
had told him of the unexpected promotion, 
and shown him this room that was to be his 
own, and told him to spend two weeks in 
recharging his energies at the seaside, he 
had also said that a secretary would be 
provided for Steele, who in the past had 
dictated his occasional letters to a machine. 

Without the slightest conceit, Steele 
knew that he was good-looking, just 
as he knew his weight was thirteen 
stone six. He accepted it as casually 
as he accepted that mysterious quality 
whirl 1 made men like him — that attri 
bnte which made him supremely suc- 
cessful in his work. But he knew, 
too, that his physique and his humour 
and his mannerisms appealed espe* 
cially to women, who, as a class, had 
apparently conspired to flirt with and 
embarrass him. He was abnormally 
susceptible ; he conceded in advance 
that any girl over sixteen could make 
a hopeless fool of hinu 

For years he harl loathed himself 
for this weakness, and he had read 
many books treating of the power of ■ 
will and the freedom of individual 
volition; but, somehow, it did no 
good* The mere conception, therefore, of 
being closeted for eight hours a dav with 
any secretary had at first driven him to a 
reiteration of the platitude that woman's 
place is in the home. 

It would undoubtedly have saved him a 
good deal of inquietude if he had known 
that the new secretary was very young p 
frightened half out of her wits, and not at 
all convinced that she was going to be a 
credit to the person who had taught her 
shorthand. More than that, she was a girl 
who had chosen her vocation partly because 
she lacked sufficient training in any other 
field, and partly because the prospectus of 
the business school had been drafted by an 

Now, from information and belief, Steele 
was irrevocably persuaded that the average 
young woman who studies shorthand intends 
to use the science solely as a means to stop 
using it as soon as possible, Within a 
twelvemonth lie hud mo ted five vacancies in 


ike Brute 



Illustrated Jby W-Dewar 

" ■ ■ p— ■■■ ■n il 1 1 ' i n, *^.<^w*^. v^ ii rti *^** i <^rt* w +«*M»iMw^ : 

the ranks of the company's typists; 
he had bought five silver mustard-pots ; 
and he had noted the renunciation by 
five of his associates of the smoking 
of cigars, of striking haberdashery, 
and of expensive luncheons. 

And as he stared, in an atrophy of 
judgment, at Miss Hastings, he was 
increasingly conscious of the demerits 
of her own stare, which was alarminglv 
direct, and calculated, as he knew at 
once to throw him on the defensive. 

If she had only been more conserva- 
tive she would have been adorable. 

" Good morning/' said Miss Hastings, 

Her voice was a trifle louder than 
usual ; there was invincible virtue in 

■ it, not unmixed with Christian forti- 
tude. A tidal surge of colour swept 
over her cheeks. The man was as 

audacious as she had fancied ; yea, more so ! 

He had come in like a whirlwind, and he 

was ogling her. 

Steele cleared his throat viciously — this 

was the incident that led Miss Hastings to 

report to her mother that night that he had 

barked at her. 

" I J m Mr. Steele/' he said. ' I assume 

that you're- 

l'm Miss Hastings." 
4f Gh, yes/* he remarked, 
Well " 


The ellipsis was grim with foreboding. 
And as Steele proceeded dignifiedly to his 
seat behind the big desk which a fortnight 
ago he had viewed with such delight, his 
secretary was temporarily sustained and 
soothed by the mere width of the mahogany. 
Unless he attempted incontinently to climb 
over it, she had a generous start to the 
nearest exit in case of emergency, 

f * Fine morning/- said Steele* absently, and 
bit his lip. 

" Very," granted Miss" Hastings, 

Steele ventured to take a further survey 
of her, and suffered a further relapse into 
despondency. She was of a type peculiarly 
tins 11 it ed to the realm of business. She was a 
small and dainty brunette. Her eyes were 
large and perilously brown, and shaded by 
long lashes which she conld evidently droop 
with telling effect at will, 

" Hr-r-r-iimp E " said Steele . " Where have 
you — er — where have you worked before ? b> 

' This is my — I never had a situation 
before/' said Miss Hastings, truthfully, 

*' Indeed! \Yell," he said, " I— er— I'm 
very critical/' This was meant to be a 
subtle warning. " And this won't be an 
easy bdlet — not for a second ! " 

u Yes ? '' 

"But if y ou ' re — c a refill — and all that 

sort of thing- " His voice dwindled away 

to nothingness. 

94 Take a letter, please/' he said, mechani- 

Now, in reality, he had no need of writing 
letters that morning. The idea had been 
purely spontaneous and defensive. He 
wanted her to stop looking at him, and 
there was nothing else to which he could 
direct her diligence* And as Miss Hastings 
snatched for her note-book and pencil, 
gained them, and composed herself, Steele 
was perplexing] y at a loss for a correspondent. 

Miss Hastings was intent and nervous- 
The notebook rested on her lap ; the pencil 
was poised in readiness ; and Miss Hastings's 
animation wa^ most extraordinary. Steele 
shivered. He had no way of comprehending 
that she was teaching him how strictly 

bus TO^ftf Michigan 



" Letter to Michael J. Sullivan, Esq., 
Sullivan Manufacturing Company, 27, Ran- 
som Street, E.C.," said Steele, with abrupt 
rapidity. " * Dear Mr. Sullivan, — As you 
probably know comma I have recently been 
appointed assistant manager of this com- 
pany comma but I am happy to say that I 
shall continue to deal with the personal 
business with which ' — er, I mean — ' business 
which I have heretofore conducted full stop. 
With respect to the quote M 5 quote quan- 
tities and prices which I suggested to you 
last month, I am sorry to say that the figures 

have advanced two per cent., but ' 

What's the matter ? " 

Miss Hastings, gasping, lifted a face which 
was at once heroic and pathetic, belligerent 
and deprecatory. 

' I can't — I'm not up with you. You 
said personal business by which I mean 
business ' and that's as far as I got." 

" Read it to me from the beginning," he 
commanded, after a hushed interlude. 

Miss Hastings caught her breath. 

" ' Michael J. Sullivan, Esq., Sullivan 
Manufacturing Company, 27, Ransom Street, 
E.C. Dear Sullivan ' " 

" ' Dear Mr. Sullivan » ! " 

She hastily scrawled the emendation. 

" ' As you know, I have recently been- 
She paused, and in her mortification bent 
low over the page. Her cheeks darkened, 
and Steele at that moment was visited by 
an inspiration. He was still too young in 
authority to be given the power to employ 
and to dismiss, but it occurred to him that 
there was no legislation to prevent Miss 
Hastings from resigning. Very well — she 
should resign ! 

" ' Appointed/ " he said, dryly. 

" Oh, yes t " Her relief was great. 
" ' Appointed manager.' " 

" ' Assistant manager,' " he corrected, still 
more dryly. 

She appealed to him by means of her 
puissant eyes. 

"I'm afraid I can't take dictation as fast 
as that yet," she said. " The rest of it's — 
rather confused, too." 

Steele sighed audibly, and scowled at 
poor Miss Hastings. 

" See what you can do with it, anyway," 
he said. " Just end it, ' Yours very truly.' " 

" But— it wasn't finished I " 

" Never mind ; I want to see how you 
space and — punctuate." He reflected, and 
tacked on, as an afterthought, " and spell." 

" You mean " 

" Transcribe just what you have," said 
Steele, desperately. He reached out for his 
hat ind energetically rose to his feet. 
" And put it on my desk. And if anybody 
asks for me, you can say I've gone out. 
Say I've gone up to see Mr. M. J. Sullivan." 

He didn t return until three o'clock in the 
afternoon. He slowly pushed open the door 
that had his name on it, and went in circum- 
spectly. Miss Hastings, who had already repro- 
duced the letter four times, refusing to allow a 
single erasure or deviation from the mathe- 
matical accuracy of alignment, was testing 
the advantage of a fresh ribbon in the type- 
writer. As Steele entered, she looked up 
smilingly ; for the long interval of solitude 
had refreshed her, and as she had laboured 
with the trifling duty, her spirits had risen 
until she was radiantly cheerful. Her smile 
was the involuntary reflection of her mood ; 
but to Steele it appeared positively brazen— 
because he wasn't in the best of temper, and 
his apprehensions had gradually been fer- 

" Well," he said, gruffly, " how are you 
getting on ? " 

For answer, she laid the fifth copy of the 
letter on his blotter. In her anxiety to 
assure herself that it was minutely' perfect, 
she delayed to examine it once more over 
his shoulder. Steele, uncomfortable at the 
proximity, moved about in his chair. 

" I hope it's all right," she said. 

Steele nodded, and looked up. It was in 
that instant that he had an illuminating 
flash of intuition which served to double his 
discomfort. She was so feverishly ingenuous ; 
it was incredible to the man, in spite of his 
information and belief, that she could really 
be the crafty diplomat he had pictured her. 
And Miss Hastings, watching Steele narrowly, 
was similarly overtaken by a novel im- 
pression, which was that, after all, he might 
be comparatively respectable. 

" It is," said Steele. " Thank you very 

" You're quite welcome," said Miss 

At least, there was a sort of armistice. 

But on the morrow they were both con- 
strained again, and carefully on guard. 

On this second morning Steele compelled 
himself to dictate a dozen letters simply for 
the sake of moral effect ; and Miss Hastings, 
now that she was nerved to the occasion, 
missed hardly a pothook. Thereafter he 
became abstracted ; and once he blurted 
out a thought that never should have had 
that much publicity. 

" Miss Hastings," he said, unexpectedly, 
" do you ever read novels ? " 

He was instantaneously chagrined ; he 
hadn't meant to ask her the question point- 

" Not many now — I used to," she said, 
puzzled. " Why ? " 

" Nothing," said Steele, florid to the ears. 
He had made a tactical error, and it galled 
him, because he foresaw that he would be 



J 93 

What she was thinking was that Steele 
looked like an illustration of a hero in his 

" Something in this circular," lied Steele, 
waving the prospectus of a brass foundry as 
an alibi, " reminded me of it." 

" Really ! " 

" Romance of business, you know," he 
went on, endeavouring to cover his tracks. 
" The chap who owns this concern married 
his " 

" Married whom ? " 

" It was as good as a novel, 7 said Steele, 
hurriedly. " Suppose you take a letter to 
the Hoyt Motor Company." 

In the course of another week he had 
made a dozen blunders, not all as bad as 
this one, but all bad enough to anger him. 
And as Steele lost his equipoise in striving 
so constantly to maintain it, he hadn't the 
pleasure of comprehending that Miss Hastings 
was baffled too. 

She had often thought that she was living 
through one chapter of a romance. Steele 
was astoundingly young to have achieved 
such a record ,\ he was obviously destined 
to great business successes in the future. 
Miss Hastings hadn't considered herself as 
an actual party to the performance ; she 
had viewed it only from the point of the 
bystander. But she had caught the dramatic 
value of it, and given it her appreciation. 
She was repeatedly guilty of visualizing the 
subsequent chapters. 

At about that stage of their acquaintance, 
it incidentally became Miss Hastings's duty 
to write a letter of the greatest importance, 
giving an intricate list of tabulated prices 
which Steele dictated slowly and carefully 
after much research and deliberation. Miss 
Hastings, while so engaged, made an heroic 
attempt to exclude the man from her mind. 
She had scarcely thumped down the last 
full stop when Steele, after answering the 
telephone feverishly, demanded the sheet. 

" Done ? " he queried, impatiently. " Don't 
bother to r£ad it — I'm late now ! I'll stick 
it in my pocket. Thank you ! " And 
departed rapidly for an overdue appointment. 

He came back hesitantly and without his 
usual springiness. His expression, as he 
gave Miss Hastings the full benefit of it, was 
woebegone. Her heart sank like a plummet. 

Steele leaned against his desk, aud looked 
at her. There was a trace of humour in his 
gaze, and yet it was a brand of humour 
closely related to tragedy. 

" Well," he said, presently, " I don't 
suppose you did it on purpose, but " 

" What ? " she faltered. " Did what, Mr. 
Steele ? " 

" I went," said Steele, speaking very 

meticulously, " for a final consultation on 
this contract. It ran into two thousand 
pounds. And when I got there I was almost 
too late. They'd practically closed with 
another firm. But I got in for just a few 
minutes. It was a long shot, but they let 
me in. I had to talk pretty fast. And all 
of a sudden the right instant came — those 
times are mighty ticklish ; you've got to 
win or lose on the spot. And I put this 
letter " — he drew it from his pocket — " on 
the table. And my man took one look at 
it — and laughed — and started to chip me 
about it. And that killed the sale. I did 
my best to get him up to the scratch again, 
but it was all over. See what you think 
of it." 

He gave her the letter, and Miss Hastings 
viewed it breathlessly. The first two para- 
graphs were faultlessly executed. Then 
came the place where the tabulated figures 
should have been. But they were omitted, 
and Miss Hastings paled. 

The sheet • slipped from her fingers- and 
fluttered to the floor. She was white to the 
lips, and was forced to clutch the corner of 
a filing cabinet for support. She knew that 
the error was worth more than her year's 

" That cost us," said Steele, " just about 
two hundred pounds clear profit." 

He shrugged his shoulders and walked to 
his desk. • 

Miss Hastings pivoted so as to follow his 
course. She couldn't remove her eyes from 
his stern-set countenance. She knew that 
her offence had been heinous ; and yet she 
knew that she wasn't altogether to blame. 
Steele had taken the letter before she had 
verified it ; and confessedly he hadn't read 
it himself before submitting it to his client. 
At the same time, she knew that she hadn't 
been entirely focused on that letter when 
she had typed it. 

" It's better not to make any excuses/' 
said Steele, gloomily. " Those things do 

" I wasn't making any excuses," she 
denied. " I'm just — s-sorry ! " Two in- 
surgent tears left their home and marked 
twin trails leading in the direction of her 
nose. She quivered in a little spasm of 
wretchedness, and it wasn't solely for herself 
that she was grieved ; it was partly for 

He raised his head, and was palsied at 
the crisis. The sight of a woman crying 
invariably moved him to the utmost. He 
swallowed hard. 

" Don't bother about it," he said. " It's 
all in the day's work. Only let's be more 

But, as^hgjndjth^rjnended her mtfod nor 

,t, wffi$bWtai e " incuned 



toward irritation. He tapped his foot 
impatiently on the floor. He frowned at 
her. And then, out of the gaucheries of his 
past, he was overcome by certain recol- 
lections. Thrice he had been hoodwinked 
by girls who wept, only to discover later 
that they had summoned their tears as a 
solvent to disguise their coquetry. He con- 
templated Miss Hastings with mingled doubt 
and cynicism. He revived his earlier dis- 
trust of her, and of her motives. He was 
rapidly verging upon a definite conclusion 
when Miss Hastings, as she slowly veered 
toward her own desk, sniffed. 

" Oh, come ! " he said, paternally. 

Out of the silence, another sniff. Steele 
got up, and strode round the obstructions. 

" Now, look here," he said, philosophically. 
" It's too bad — it's a shame. But your 
young life isn't blasted yet — nor mine, 
either. Now I come to think of it, you 
didn't have time to go over it, did you ? 
Well, I didn't have time to go over it myself. 
It's one of those awful messes that everybody 
gets into ever so often " 

She was sitting erect, motionless, fighting 
to dominate herself. Her posture should 
have suggested bravery to Steele ; instead, 
he thought that she was still on the down 
grade. Without the slightest introspection, 
and with the sole purpose of assuring her 
that she could henceforward be consoled, he 
patted her shoulder. Then he was frozen 
with amazement at what he had done ; and 
he had cause to be. 

Miss Hastings hadn't heard him cross the 
room. She hadn't suspected that he was 
near her. But that touch on her shoulder 
restored, with cumulative interest, the dread 
with which she had begun her secretaryship. 
Instinct was strong within her, and Miss 
Hastings was already overwrought. 

She didn't shrink from him in terror ; and 
she didn't say, " How dare you ! " and suit 
her gesture to the melodrama ; for she was 
neither cowardly nor theatrical. She only 
looked at him ; but she accomplished what 
she wanted. She fancied that she could see 
him shrivelling as he stood. 

Steele wheeled sharply and went back to 
his seat. 

It was within a few minutes of the closing 
hour. The room was absolutely quiet. 
There was a rustling of papers. Steele eyed 
Miss Hastings ; Miss Hastings ignored Steele, 
but perceived him nevertheless. They rose 
and simultaneously put on their hats and 
coats. Miss Hastings, ostensibly coercing a 
wrinkle or two, was waiting for Steele to 
apologize ; Steele was giving Miss Hastings 
an opportunity to close the incident on 
good terms. 

" Good evening," said Miss Hastings, 

He had forfeited his right to any further 
expression of regrets ; he had cancelled her 
outstanding indebtedness, and left a pro- 
digious balance in her favour. 

" Good evening," said Steele. 

They went into the corridor, and to the 
street. They separated. They each took 
half-a-dozen steps. They paused. They 
turned. And as each saw the message on 
the other's face they turned again, much 
more quickly, and made off in opposite 

" Minx ! ".said Steele to himself. " She 
thought she had me ! Yah ! " 

" The brute ! " said Miss Hastings. " The 
brute ! He thought — he thought — I don't 
know what he thought ! " 

And the next day was very like the first 
morning of their foregathering. 

In the weeks that followed, Steele, although 
he never managed to shake his individuality 
quite free of Miss Hastings's influence, 
nevertheless got into the swing of his 
routine, and business thrived under his 
direction. He was enabled to do this only 
by the cultivation of a curious attitude 
toward his environment ; he had compelled 
himself to de-humanize Miss Hastings. He 
couldn't permit himself to tfcink specifically 
of her, because she always dissipated his 
attention. In fact, he scarcely allowed 
himself to look at her. 

He was now unshakably convinced, as 
he had been at the beginning of things, that 
she was intent on conquest. He congratu- 
lated his own sagacity when, now and then, 
he observed that she had done something 
ultra-feminine and decoying, as, for example, 
when she appeared with an adornment of 
flowers, or with a new ribbon, or a new hat, 
or even new silk shoelaces. 

He got to be rather a clever detective in 
matters of this sort. Within two minutes 
from the opening of the office, he knew 
whether she had spread a fresh pitfall, and, 
if so, of what it consisted. 

Miss Hastings, whose temporary con- 
fidence in Steele had been destroyed so 
instantaneously, was equally sagacious. She 
could tell from Steele's squared chin and 
his deep-set eyes that he was a man of 
staying power, of great endurance, and that 
he depended for his victories upon patience 
and persistence. Not for one moment did 
he deceive her by his feigned indifference. 
She practised a quaint little indifference of 
her own ; she showed him as plainly as 
she could that she was apprised of his true 
character, and, now that she knew her ground, 
she was fully competent to take care of 

Their communications, then, were along 
the lines of an informal ritual. 

ii««i ouldsay,with 




an intonation cunningly implying that he 
was about to reproach her. 

" Yes, Mr. Steele ! " And Miss Hastings, 
prettily alert, but incredibly impersonal, 
would discover him intent on a memorandum. 

" Would it inconvenience you to stay a 
bit late to-night ? " This would be so 
modulated as to suggest that naturally he 
expected her to decline, 

" No, not at all." Miss Hastings would 
pave the way to the inference that she was 
astonished at his question, since she existed 
only to further the aims of the office. 

" I shouldn't ask you, but the Liverpool 
office lias wired twice for these figures/* 
This was a palpable extenuation, 

" Oh, it's quite all right, Mr. Steele. 
They 11 go by to-night's post." This was 
her intimation that she was interested in 
nothing but business. 

11 Half an hour ought to be enough. I 
have an appointment at six, anyway/' He 
left nothing for her to cavil at. 

" I'll get them out to-night/' 

And r having terminated the episode, Miss 
Hastings would revert instantly to her type- 
writer, and Steele would generally contrive 

to get the door to the corridor open, in 
order that she wouldn't be suspicious of his 
purpose. Miss Hastings would usually 
scheme to get it closed again, in order to 
demonstrate to Steele ber contempt for his 

They behaved most queerly, too, when 
sometimes their eyes happened to meet 
directly, withTio latitude for either of them 
to avoid the meeting. On these occasions 
they both showed conspicuous trepidation 
— snowed it by reflex, or by a heightening 
of colour. 

Steele often wondered why he didn't go 
straight to his chief and insist — absolutely 
insist — that Miss Hastings be transferred. 
He had failed to arraign her for inefficiency r 
for it was only on the very first morning, 
and when she had omitted those quotations, 
that she had proved incapable. She didn't 
seem to have sense enough to resign ; and 
Steele gave up hoping for it. He didn't 
realize that he was really enjoying this 
contretemps with fire ; it was risky, but it 
had its charms. He was curious to see how 
Miss Hastf.ng5;|jflfl|gf|vgomg to handle her 





And now that he was armoured by 
experience, he had quite reversed his earlier 
theory. Instead of having one chance in a 
thousand, he adjudged that he had nine 
hundred and ninety-nine ; but caution was 
still his watchword, and he never ignored 
that thousandth as a possibility. 

One day he went to lunch with an elderly 
departmental manager who was eloquent 
on the subject of typists. 

" Confound it all," said the elderly man, 
intolerantly. " We have the worst lot of 
key- pounders I ever saw in my life ! It's 
something awful ! I can't get a letter done 
decently with any speed. They're all lazy 
and incompetent. Oh, you haven't anything 
to kick about. You're lucky." 

" I am ! " said Steele. " How do you 
make that out ? " 

The elderly man grinned. 
,l Well," he said, " you've got the pick 
of the whole collection. What more do you 
want ? " 

Steele regarded him quizzically. 
" Ever heard me say so ? " he asked. 
" No ; but you're wise. If you said too 
much, somebody would grab her away from 

" Let 'em grab," said Steele. " I sha'n't 

The elderly man was highly amused. 
" It's been tried more than once, old boy." 
" When ? " asked Steele, amusedly. 
" Oh, any number of times. The adver- 
tising department wanted her, and the 
secretary wanted her, and — if you've got to 
know the awful truth — we wanted her for 
our work. But we didn't get her." 

" Why not ? " Steele was growing un- 

" Think anybody could pry her away 
from you ? Not a hope ! You're a little 
tin god on wheels, you are ! The other girls 
are always kidding her about it." 
"Oh, they are, are they ? " 
Steele was aghast. 

" And, you take it from me," said the other, 
impressively, " you can hire brains, and 
you can hire hands, but you can't hire 
loyalty. You're certainly lucky." 

Steele made no immediate response, but 
he was thoughtful, and, to some extent, 
worried. It came as surprising news to him 
that Miss Hastings had displayed loyalty 
so noteworthy as to excite comment, and 
he couldn't imagine what she had to be 
loyal about. He was depressed ; he felt as 
if he had been ambushed, even while he was 
wideawake. She liked to work for him, did 
she ? Well, he could deal with that. " If 
I ever get to be the absolute head of the 
business," he said, soberly, " I'll be hanged 
if there's a woman in the whole show." 
When he returned to the office he was 

still distraught. Miss Hastings was out, and 
Steele was unconscionably relieved. He 
leisurely set about the collation of loose-ends 
from the morning ; he progressed rapidly 
until he came to a hiatus which could be 
filled only by a letter which he had dictated 
at eleven o'clock. 

In the hope of finding the transcript on 
Miss Hastings's desk, he went over to hunt 
for it. There was a jumble of papers lying 
alongside the machine. He picked them up 
together ; and saw under the pile two 
cuttings. One was a brief article which he 
had recently written for a trade journal, 
and it included a half-tone picture of himself. 
Steele grimaced, and stooped to investigate 
the second cutting. It was a bit of verse 
from a magazine, and it was entitled :— 


Listen ! 

For I can't say it above a whisper, 

So please listen 

I knew you were going to kiss me. 
I knew it weeks ago, 
Sooner or later, 
Some day, some hour, 
You'd kiss me 

Glorious ultimate ! 

But listen, 

At least, look attentive ! 

Isn't it funny, I knew it so well, 

Knew that you were — going to kiss me ? 

Nirvana ! 

Listen, and tell me, 

Is it because you are you. 

Or because I am I, 

Or because you kiss every girl that you know ? 

None of these reasons you acknowledge ? 

And it's all just because — 

I knew you were going to kiss me — 

And you did — 

Again — and again ! 

Steele replaced the cuttings carefully ; and 
jumbled the letters over them. His eye- 
brows were drawn down tightly, and his 
lips were thin and straight. His jaw was 
firm and tense, as if his teeth were very 
close together. There was a blot of angry 
red above his cheek-bones. 

" Enough is enough," said Steele bitterly 
to himself, " and too much is a great, great 
plenty ! " He scowled at Miss Hastings's 
desk, and formed his wisest judgment. 
" She finishes here on Saturday," he deter- 
mined with finality. " Ab-so-lute-Iy 1 " 

And went over to the chief's office in 
order to be absent from the room when 
Miss Hastings came in. He knew that he 
couldn't look at her and keep his tempera- 
mental balance. The chief told him that 
henceforth he could arrange the matters of 
assistance as he saw fit, And Steele, instead 

of TsUfflSsiw hriimSi? pen8lve - 



There were two days until Saturday, and 
for two days Steele didn't earn so much as 
a beggarly fraction of his salary. He 
couldn't expel from his mind the decision 
he had made, and what it would mean to 
him. He couldn't refrain from watching 
Miss Hastings, and from studying intently 
every detail that had to do with her charm. 
He couldn't forget her, not even when he 
had left the office at night. Saturday found 
him vacillating and restive 

At nine o'clock he resolved to enlighten 
her at once ; at half-past nine he thought 
it would be kinder to wait until noon. At 
ten he wondered if he ought to give her a 
further trial ; forty minutes later he was 
disconsolate at the prospect of doing without 
her. Eleven o'clock came, and Steele was 
painfully nervous. He was sorrowful, but 
adamant in his decision. And then, after 
nearly an hour of torment, he knew that he 
had been influenced by a pathetic fallacy ; 
he must end it now and for ever. He cleared 
his throat. 

11 Miss Hastings," he said. 

11 Yes, Mr. Steele." 

He cleared his throat again. She was 
looking at him, and, as always, he was 
unquiet under her glance. 

" How long have you been here, Miss 
Hastings ? " 

" Just six months," she said. 

" That's right. We usually take on new 
people for six months' trial." 

She continued to look at him, but said 
nothing. Steele observed, however, a flicker 
of uncertainty in her eyes, and he was glad 
—the idea was probably dawning on her, so 
it wouldn't come to her as a shock. 

" I told you it wouldn't be easy." 

" But I've liked it," she said. 

" Really ? " 

Steele's imagination was captured anew 
by her loveliness ; he began to feel like a 
cruel despot. She was unquestionably 
hindering his career — and yet, how she 
embellished the sombre office ! 

" Really and truly," she said. 

" Well " He was somewhat abashed ; 

he temporized by clearing liis throat. 

" Now, about the future." She didn't 
help him out with a single syllable. " Un- 
fortunately " 

He couldn't bring himself to utter the 
dismissal ; and, as he met her eyes, he was 
maddeningly conscious that he didn't want 
to. He didn't want her to go ; he didn't 
want her to stay. What on earth was it he 
wanted ? 

44 You see," said Steele, " it's like this." 
And he began to tear small sections from 
his blotter. ' I haven't been certain of how 
well satisfied you are. As a matter of fact, 
I don't believe you like office work, do you ? " 

He glanced up, and felt his heart flutter. 

" I — I'm doing the best I can," said Miss 

She was applying herself sharply to a 
diagnosis of Ins meaning. His own lack of 
poise was premonitory, and she hadn't yet 
disposed of all her innate assortment of 

" Yes — I know," said Steele. 

He rose abruptly and went to the window, 
peered out, and slowly faced Miss Hastings. 
As it happened, he caught her unawares. 
There was no mistaking the proper trans- 
lation of her look to him, and spontaneously 
Steele was no employer, but a mere man. 
The significance of all this fluctuation of 
mood was suddenly clear to him, and it was 
paralyzing in its purport. 

He stammered, and put out his hand aim- 
lessly. A succession of visions trooped across 
his brain. He saw his friend, the elderly 
departmental manager, laughing at him. 
He saw himself on that first morning 
solemnly weighing his chances. He saw 
himself, in the past, spending lonely even- 
ings during which he expended an astonish- 
ingly large amount of time in reflecting upon 
the vagaries of men and women. He saw 
Miss Hastings cutting gaps in the trade 
journals. He saw the other girls taunting 
her with her fealty to him, who didn't 
deserve it. He saw his chief, humorously 
grave, reminding him of his impulsiveness. 
And, finally, he saw Miss Hastings in the 
flesh, there before him. Steele wavered, and 
fell. The thousandth chance had overtaken 

" And still," he said, a trifle unsteadily, 
" I don't know. I don't know whether tins 
is the sort of thing you ought to be doing " 

She was also on her feet now, staring at 
him in panic. 

" Mr. Steele ! " 

With the sensation that he was carrying 
out his predestination, he walked swiftly to 
her side.. There was no more irritation in 
him. He was placidly calm, save for the 
convulsion in his heart. 

" At twelve o'clock to-day," he said, 
never taking his eyes from hers, " this 
engagement ends " 

And, before he could complete the sentence, 
a clock outside began to boom the hour of 
noon. Miss Hastings winced. Then there 
was dead silence. 

She turned, and fumbled at her desk. 
Steele came yet closer. 

" And as for your next engagement," he 
said, " can you make up your mind about 
it now ? " 

She caught her breath. 

"If you can," said Steele, " I — wish you 
would. I think I must — need you ! " 

In %tf^flfflf\u8Mr was the 



tramping of many feet, 
and the sound of chatter- 
ing and laughter. The 
place was semi-public, and 
privacy wasn't long to be 
continued. But as Miss 
Hastings turned to Steele 
he forgot about all this* 
He forgot that this was 
his doom inescapable ; he 
forgot everything but the 
reality of the present. 

His arms went out and 
round her. He was look- 
ing down into the eyei 
which had so confused 
and baffled him ; he was 
bending toward her lips, 
and he had reached them, 
His world burst into radi- 
ant colour, and he had 
ceased for all time to be 
Steele, the hardened cynic. 

Then the knob of the 
door rattled, and they 
sprang apart. The door 
swung open, and two of 
Steele's friends — unobserv- 
ing fellows— we re on the 
threshold. Rebuffed, they 
went away, J saving the 
door open. And Steele 
and Miss Hastings, avowed 





lovers for hardly a quarter of a minute, 
looked at each other from the opposite sides 
of the room. Closing the door, Steele leaped 
towards the girl. Once or twice, quickly but 
ever so thoroughly, he kissed her ; and then 
he snatched her hat from the near-by rack 
and thrust it into her hands/ 

" Come on — hurry ! " he said. " Let's 
get out of doors ! It's impossible here ! 
We'll get away somewhere where we can 

She was smoothing her hair as well as she 
could ; and Steele was standing behind her, 
complicating the process. 

" I knew this was going to happen," he 
said, suddenly. 
D-did you ? " 

" Always," said Steele. " But— tell me, 
where did you find that verse that begins — 
' Listen ! For I can't say it above a whisper?" 

She was brilliantly crimson, and her hands 

" Why, how did you know ? " she gasped. 
" I— I found it " 

" I saw it on your desk," said Steele. 

" Why, I— I found it " 

44 On the floor ? " 

" Yes ! I " 

" I wondered where I'd dropped it," said 
Steele. "I'd only cut it out that morning, 
and " 

She was in his arms again, her face close 
to his shoulder. 

44 But I did know ! " she breathed. " I 
knew it ever so long ago ! " 

44 That's why I cut it out," said Steele. 

44 So did / / " 

And, hand-in-hand, they slipped down 
the great stairs, out into the world of 



(The Fourth of the Series.) 

Who dwells herein must take the greatest heed 
That no projectile from his hand do speed. 

1. It may the outcome be of furious boot * 
But shame, and a bird will soon fly out. 

2. Though as a Pope his station would be high, 
Still higher we may find him— in the sky. 

3. Here is the word he said : " I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one who loves his fellow-men." 

4. No Chancellor should make it his chief aim, 
Though he may find it welcome all the same. 

5. Seeking the figure needed, here at least, 

We get a chance between the south and east* 


Purple or yellow, number one 
Tells us that two is just begun. 

1. If you are asked to be trustee. 
Gift-edged is this security. 

2. For rougher work it never fails. 
But do not use it on your nails. 

3. Tis always found within a bed, 
Yet on it no man lays his head. 

4. A novelist well known to fame 
With a musician shares this name. 

5. This beast is often sx>n, but you 
Will never find him in the Zoo. 

6. Beneath the tree was childhood's bliss • 
There, too, the murderer's fate is this. 


Vol. lix— 14. 


Answers to Acrostics Nos. 76 and 77 should be addressed 
to the Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, South- 
ampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.2, and must arrive 
not later than by the first post on February 10th. 

The solution to each acrostic must be on a separate piece of 
paper ; a tecond answer may be sent to any or every light, 
and should be written at the side of the first one ; at the foot 
of each solution every solver should write his pseudonym and 
nothing else. This pseudonym should be limited to one 

Answer to No. 


1. L 





3. N 



4. D 






6. N 




Light 3. 



The complete series of six acrostics was answered 
correctly by Aber, Assam, Crotal, Fifi, Flapper, Manora, 
Monachus, Roc, Scarsdale, Silex, Somerford, and Yoko. 
Of these twelve solvers, Manora and Yoko, who won 
prizes in the eleventh series, are ineligible for a prize now ; 
and Manora, Scarsdale, and Silex did not conform to the 
rule (printed with the last acrostic of the set) that com- 
petitors must send their names and addresses with the 
final solution. The other eight will divide the prizes, 
receiving a guinea and a half each ; they will be ineligible 
during the thirteenth series, now running. 

The successful solvers are : Aber, Mr. W. W. Grundy, 
University College, Cardiff; Assam, Mr. Gordon Plater, 
16, Claremont Road, Westcliff, Southend-on-Sea ; Crotal, 
Miss G. W. Hughes, Brier Hill, Northampton; Fifi, 
Mr. D. F. Ferguson, Royal Naval College, Dartmouth; 
Flapper, Mr. J. Charrington, Shenley Grange, Barnet, 
Herts ; Monachus, Mr. D. G. Robertson, Torrie, Enborne 
Road. Newbury, Berks; Roc, Mr. R. C. Oakley, Dun- 
church Hall, Rugby: S^-rford, Mrs. Roper Tvler, 
Barton House, Tetburv, Glos. 





IF you asked Mr. Ricardo Brook " how 
he began/" he would tell you that it was 
as a junior in the chambers of a 
barrister M.P. in the Temple. And 
he would probably add, were he in a con™ 
tiding mood, that he spent mnch of his time 
in filling all the available office stationery 
with sketches of the various judges and legal 
lights of the day. He was only sixteen, it is 
true, but such conduct was hardly likely 
to lead to the Woolsack, and his first 
m% acceptance/' coming at about this time, 
definitely turned his thoughts away from 
the Temple, This first published work of 
his was a series of three sketches depicting 
the mistake of an illiterate billposter who, 
by posting a tailor's advertisement over 
part of a famous actress's poster , made the 
latter invite the public to " Come and see 

Mrs. in Someone's 8s. ncL trousers." 

It appeared in a now-defunct London comic 
paper, and the editor, in a moment of mis- 
taken prodigality, sent him half a crown for 
the masterpiece ! Quite undeterred by this, 
however, he persuaded his relatives that 

BARBER : "My tonic 'air-res torer is to the bald 
'eaH what the beneficent spray is to the blighted 

Hysterical Storekeeper : " Diretkerly T see 'im clrivin 'is motor through my shop- 
winder I could tdl 'e was one o' these T ere joy riders " 1 1 hi |%/pDC|TY flf Ml fH If AN 



Art and not Law was his forte, 
and got them to apprentice him 
to a well-known firm of litho- 
graphers, in whose studio he ac- 
quired a knowledge of lithography 

(all BOY (to Villain) : "The Controller's cut off 
the limelight, sir. The manager will be obliged if 
you'll make up your face emerald -green for the murder 

1M"iMlrfffiK A 

Critical Butcher : " Who ever saw 
feathers on a skewer ? " 

and of process and colour- 
work which has since been 
of the greatest service to 
His aptitude for humorous 

Imaginative Little Girl : " Fancy, mother, only yesterday I 
may have been bathing with this bloater ! ' ' 

See RES S : " Do you seek to probe the 
fur lire or to learn of some absent dear 
one ? tr 

AFFLtCTEP Domestic : " Lor* no, mum. 
I just wondered if you could put me on to a 
charm to cure the hiccups.*' 

drawing having been mentioned 
by a friend to a music-publisher, 
the latter gave him his first 
" outside " commission. This was 
to design a cover for a barn dance 
— the jazz of the period. The pub- 
lisher, tuning approved the design, 

TOffatff™iiitoff ,ld the lith0 * 



printed for one of Phil May's lee- 
taring tours, he did a sketch him- 
self, winch so tickled Phil May that 
he was good enough to prophesy a 
future for him in that direction. 

War Critic : " 7 Qw can we trust ihc 'Ins ? They 
carn't trust each other— P ave to *ave lids on their pipes 
an* beer mugs." 

Stone to the young artist, so that he could 
complete the work, and Mr. Brook recalls 
to this day his perspiring vovage across 
London with the heavy stone — which prob- 
ably weighed as much as he did and the 
dismay of his fellow- passengers when it 
nearly ^crashed through the bottom of the 

Meanwhile, his liking for caricature was 
as keen as ever, and not being pleased with 
the effect of a pictorial poster his firm had 


MmtSTRY Official: **No need to screen the lights now, my bw- DVw- think 
war's still on ? " ,„, hu 
Infatuated Office Boy : 'iW/fc^ ttfmake Miss Je^^V§R5itW»9#M^fllG 


MontEK : <+ Wot's all this 'ubbub goin" on 
indoots ? *' 

Daughter : ** Baby's bin and licked Erbert's 
'orcie lessons orf "is slate." 

Then came a 
period in the 
studios of various 
art printers and 
ad v ertisin g h o u ses, 
and in this sphere 
he frequently in* 
traduced a humor* 
ous element into 
his poster and 
other designs, and 
so caused his name 
to become familiar 
to an ever-widen- 
ing circle. if Candid 
critics," he savs, 
"told me that all 
my efforts were un- 
consciously funny ; 
but I think I may 
claim that I pro- 
duced many 
humorous adver- 
tisement designs 
•9#M#€fllGMJbich achieved 




Workers Wife . " Urry up, father. One of our chickens J as laid a egg in 
next door's planner ! " 

" It was/ 1 he says, 
l * a small imaginative 
effort showing our 
most d isti ng Li ished 
Manx novelist on a 
pilgrimage to discover 
a bookshop that did 
not stock his latest 

Readers of Punch 
and other papers 
have been liberal in 
the matter of supply- 
ing him with ideas 
for sketches, but his 
experience has h^n 
that editors have not 
looked with a kindly 
eyeon these combined 
efforts. He relieSj 
therefore, on his own 
imagination for the 
ideas and dialogue in 
practically all his 
work. Chance re- 
marks heard in his 
wanderings often 
suggest a subject, 
but "just sitting 
and thinking them " 
is his usual method 
of getting " notions/' 
a method for which, 
he confesses, he for- 
tunately seems to 
have an aptitude. 

popularity/" About this time 
he began to contribute to a 
number of humorous papers, and 
later kept readers of the Morning 
Leader and the Star amused with 
a long series of political cartoons. 

The most cursory glance at 
the drawings here reproduced 
will show that Mr. Brook pos- 
sesses an unusual aptitude for 
seizing upon — and emphasizing — 
the quaint and humorous side 
of things In this workaday world, 
and for presenting them to us 
from an unexpected point of 
view. His eye is ever on the 
alert for subjects among the 
humdrum affairs of everyday 
life, and what his eye sees his 
pencil records with a whimsicality 
all his own. 

His work is frequently seen in 
Punch, and it is a fact worth 
noting that the first drawing he 
sent to its offices was accepted. 

Suspicious housewife discovers butcher hoarding an elephant loc 
book customers. 





If you have eight postage-stamps, 4 by 2, as in the 
diagram, it is very interesting to discover the various 
ways in which they can be folded so that thev all lie 


will say at once that 


under one stamp, as shown, 
they can actually be 
folded in forty different 
ways so that No. 1 is 
face upwards and all 
the others invisible be- 
neath it. Nos. 5, 2, 7, 
and 4 will always be 
face downwards, but you may arrange for any stamp, 
except No. 6, to He next to No. 1, though there are 
only two ways each in which 7 and 8 can be brought 
into that position. From a little law that I discovered, 
I was convinced that they could be folded in the order 
1, 5, 6, 4, 8, 7, 3, 2, and also i. 3, 7, 5, 6, 8, 4, 2, with 
No. 1 at the top, face upwards, but it puzzled me for 
some time to discover how. Can the reader so fold 
them, without, of course, tearing any of the perforation ? 
Try it with a piece of paper well creased like the diagram 
and number the stamps on both sides for convenience. 
It is a fascinating puzzle. Do not give it up as 
impossible ! 

A non-stop express, going sixty miles an hour, 
starts from Bustletown for Ironchester, and another 
non-stop express, going forty miles an hour, starts 
at the same time from Ironchester for Bustletown. 
How far apart are they exactly an hour before they 
meet ? As I have failed to find these cities on any 
map, or in any gazetteer, I cannot state the distance 
between them, so we will just assume that it is some- 
thing over 250 miles. If this puzzle gives the reader 
much trouble he will smile when he sees the answer 
next month ! 

• !*•* 

\v • 

• • 

• • 
t ft 




• ft 

ft ft 

• J* 


• • 

• # 


• • • 

Take an ordinary set of 

twenty-eight dominoes 
and return double 3, 
double 4, double 5, and 
double 6 to the box as 
not wanted. Now, with 
the remainder form three 
square frames, in the 
manner of the one 
shown, so that the pips 
in every side shall add 
up alike. In the ex- 
ample given the sides 
sum to 15. If this were to stand, the sides of the two 
other frames must also sum to 15. But you can take 
any number you like and it will be seen that it is not 
required to place 6 against 6, 5 against 5, and so on. 


A correspondent seeks an answer to the following. 
One is always prepared for puzzles that are mere 
hoaxes, having no possible answer, but this does not 
look like one of them. There is probably some catch 
or trick in the thing, but I confess it has eluded me. 
Perhaps some reader may know the answer or suggest 
some possible solution, 

"A merchant died, leaving 34,342,200 pairs of 

snuffers to be divided equally between his two sons. 
When the executor did so he found there was only 
one pair for each.*' 
From an old pocket-book, dated December, i860. 

In this puzzle (by Mr. T. Kent) the same letters are 
used to form five different missing words, but in the 
last line they form two words : — 

Base of the sword, the felon Hun 

With proud ambition in brutish might 

To seek ... . —his standard in the sun— 

earth's plan and mock for ever Right. 

But each brave in the Allied fight 

Did shout " •» until the day was won. 

Solutions to Laat Month's Puzzles. 

Place the four pieces 
together in the manner 
shown and the sym- 
metrical Greek Cross will 
be found in the centre. 


At first there were 20 
persons and each received 
6s. Then 15 persons (five 
fewer) would have re- 
ceived 8s. each. But 24 

(four more) appeared and only received 5s. each, 
amount distributed weekly was thus 120s. 



If you make a rectangle with one side equal to the 
diameter and the other three times the diameter, then 
the diagonal will be something near correct. In fact, 
in figures it would be 
1 to 3- 1622. The method 
I recommend is the 

In the diagram A B is 
the diameter. Bisect 
the semicircle in D. 
Now, with the radius A 
C mark off the points 
E and F from A and B 
and draw the lines D E and D F 
added to the distance G H giva 

The distance D G 
t o— a quarter of the 

length of the circumference (I K), correct within a 
five-thousandth part. I K L M is the length of com- 
plete straight line. I could give another way, 
correct to a seven teen -thousandth part, but it is 
a little more difficult. 


The two English words are FABRICATED and 

BIFURCATED. In the first case A R T are taken as 

the three missing letters, and in the second cas** 

URT. c 

The following are the words in their order : Mites* 
emits, " Times/' smite, 'tis me, items, is met, I stem, 





Always Good— 




SnPih 22. 





When you 
have read 
this copy 
pass it on 
to a friend. 

N° 351 






Uhe Un crown r d 
King of Arabia" 




[■ k; m^ S- — * rjja j \ fro r 

** v ^y Ifl^t'- ffismcoF Micf 


FOR field-path or road, for mountain side or 
pavement, wear Wood-Milne Rubber Soles 
and Heels. The sportsman, be he fisherman 
or golfer, will enjov the wonderful comfort of the 
resilient rubber of Wood- Milne Soles and Heels, 

the appearance of the boots and shoes, lengthen their 
life, and considerably" reduce the expense of repairs, 



Wear Wood- Milne Rubber Soles ;md Heels oik\ ^u 

will wear them always. Made in all sizes, shap: >, <l i 
qualities ro suit all kinds of footwear. Stocked and i ^i 
by nil bootmakers. Look foi the name " IVood-Hdiu* 

by LiOOgle 

SJT. 4 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 



os* *»** University of Michigan 



MARCH, 1920. 
Vol* 59. No. 351. 



•HE talk of 
the half- 
dozen men 
on the f 
veranda of the \ / 
Singapore Club. \ \ 
— a couple rf \i 
merchants, a \ 
planter in town 
on business, an 
officer of an Indian \\ 
regiment, a globe- \\ 
trotting professor from "\\ 
an American university, \\ 
and a sea-captain — had "\\ 
drifted desultorily from the \ 
specific instance of the famous ■ 
Indian rope- trick, resuscitated 
by a British magazine that / 
lay upon the club tables and I 
contested sceptically by the "* 
Anglo-Indian officer, to the 
general topic of the alleged 
ability of the Asiatic to make 
people " see what isn't there." 
The American professor, whose 
speciality, as he confessed, was 
psychology, manifested a pertinacious 
interest in the subject. But his direct 
questions to these habitual dwellers 
in the Middle and Far East elicited 
only contemptuous negatives or vague 
second and third hand stories without 
evidential value. Merchants, planter, 
and officer alike had quite obviously 
none of them seen any tricks upon 
which the professor could safely base his 
rather rashly enunciated theory of special 
hypnotic powers possessed by the inscrutable 
races whose surface energies are so profitably 
exploited by the white man. He turned 
at last to the sea-captain, who had sat 
puffing at his cheroot in silence. 

" And you, Captain Williamson ? You 
have voyaged about these seas for the best 
part of a generation — have you never been 
confronted by one of these inexplicable 
phenomena of which the travellers tell us ? " 

Captain Williamson changed the duck- 
clad leg which crossed the other and smiled 
a little with his keen grey eyes. Caressing 
the neat pointed beard which accentuated 
the oval of his intelligent face, he replied, 
thoughtfully : — 

" Well, professor — I have. Once. Per- 
sonally, though I saw the affair with my own 
eyes, I don't even now know what to make 

Vol. lix.— 15 Copyright, 1920, 









of it. Perhaps 
your hypnotic 
theory might ex- 
plain it." He 
shrugged his 

" Will you not 

tell us the 

story?" entreated 

the professor. " It 

is so .rare to receive 

trustworthy first - hand 

evidence of anything 


Captain Williamson 
glanced rather diffi- 
dently around upon 
his companions. 

"Fire away, 

cap'en ! " exclaimed 

one of the merchants, 

slapping him amicably 

on the knee. *' You've 

..•'* always got a good yarn." 

" This happens to be a 

true one," said the captain, with a 

smile of tolerance, " but, of course, 

you are under no compulsion to 

believe it." 

" Drinks all round on the one 
who doesn't ! " decreed the planter. 
" Go ahead ! Don't ask us to 
believe rubber is going to boom 
again, that's all. Short of that, 
we'll believe anything." 
" Well," began Captain Williamson, 
his eyes following reflectively the long, deliber- 
ate puff of smoke he blew into the air, " per- 
haps some of you may remember Captain 
Strong — ' lucky Jim Strong ' ? Twenty-five 
years or so ago he was one of the best-known 
skippers in the Pacific, celebrated almost. 
Men talked of him with a certain awe, as of 
a man who had a good fortune that was 
nothing short of uncanny, He had been 
engaged in all sorts of desperate enterprises, 
frequently illicit-, and always he emerged 
unharmed and gorged with profits. Only all 
the San Francisco banks put together, for 
he dealt with all of them, could tell you what 
he was worth, but it was certainly a very 
large sum. However wealthy he was, he 
apparently derived very little enjoyment 
from his money. He was always at sea in 
his ship, the Mary Gleeson, of which he was 
both owner and skipper, and stayed in port 
only just long enough to discharge one cargo 

by F. Britten LUWiVnCRyTY UF Ml 111 [GAIT 



and pick up another. His personal habits 
were almost unknown, but of course a legend 
of eccentricity grew up around them as a 
companion to the legend of his supernatural 

" It happened, as the finale to sundry per- 
sonal adventures with which I will not weary 
you, that about a quarter of a century ago I 
found myself sailing out of the port of San 
Francisco as first officer to the Mary Glee son. 
I was quite a young man, and it was my first 
job as mate. We were bound to Saigon, in 
Cochin China, with a cargo of American 
arms and ammunition consigned to the 
French Government. At that time the 
French were still fighting to preserve and 
extend their conquests in that part of the 

" The voyage across the Pacific was un- 
eventful enough. We were a contented 
ship. The men were cheerful. The old un- 
certificated Scandinavian we had shipped as 
second mate was a conscientious officer. I 
was rather proud of my new dignity and 
anxious to justify it. 

" As for Captain Strong, I unaffectedly 
liked him. Decisive but even-tempered, his 
quietly firm handling of the ship's company 
won my respect, and there was no doubt of 
his first-class seamanship. He was utterly 
without that petty punctilious pride by 
which some masters try to conceal their lack 
of native dignity, and he would talk to me 
for hours during my w r atch. His conversa- 
tion revealed a wide and intimate knowledge 
of men and affairs, but upon his own per- 
sonal adventures and career he was com- 
pletely silent, and no stratagems of mine 
could lure him into speaking of them. 
Reserved as he was upon this point, never- 
theless I felt that he regarded me with a 
distinctly friendly sentiment, and I cordially 
reciprocated it. 

" At last we made the tall promontory of 
Cape St. Jacques, and took on board the 
half-caste pilot who was to navigate us the 
sixty miles up the river to Saigon. It was 
early morning when we crossed the bar, and, 
relieved from the direct responsibilities of 
navigation, Captain Strong and I sat all day 
in deck chairs under the awning of the bridge. 
The damp, close heat was suffocating, and 
neither of us had much desire to talk, but I 
fancied that a more than usually heavy 
moodiness lay over the skipper. He was 
certainly not quite normal. He frowned to 
himself, bit his lip, and his eyes roved in an 
uneasy sort of recognition from side to side 
of the stream as we rounded reach after 
interminable reach. I felt that some secret 
anxiety possessed him, but of course I could 
not ask him straight out what it was. Rather 
diffidently, I did venture on one question. 

" 4 Ever been here before, sir ? ' I asked. 

" He shot a suspicious look at me, directly 
into my eyes, before he answered. 

" ' Once/ 

" The tone of that reply effectually checked 
any further exhibition of the curiosity it 

" The worst heat of the day was over when 
we dropped anchor in the broad stream 
opposite the European-looking city of Saigon. 
To my pleasure, Captain Strong invited me 
to go ashore with him, and in a few minutes 
the gig was pulling us towards the rows of 
fine-looking Government buildings which 
stretch back from the quays. 

44 We went to the Government House and 
filled up a few dozens of those useless papers 
without which the French functionary dare 
do nothing, and received vague assurances 
that in a few days we should be allowed to 
unload the arms of which the French troops 
were in urgent need. Our business com- 
pleted as far as possible, Captain Strong 
hesitated for a moment or two, biting his 
lip in that odd way I had noticed coming 
up the river. Irresolution of any kind was 
a most uncommon phenomenon in him. 
Then suddenly, evidently giving way to a 
powerful impulse, I heard him murmur tc 
himself, ' Give 'em a chance, anyway ! ' 

" Throwing a curt ' Come along ! ' to me, 
he set off at a tremendous pace through 
the streets with the assurance of a man' who 
can find his way about any town where he 
has been once previously. I followed him, 
puzzled by the words I had overheard, 
wondering whither he was going, and noting 
the native population with curious eyes. 
The Annamite men are a stunted, degenerate 
race, in abject terror of their white masters, 
but the women are many of them surprisingly 
attractive. I had plenty of opportunity for 
comparison, for very soon we found our- 
selves among a swarm of both sexes at the 
station of the steam-tram which runs to 
Cho-lon, the Chinese town a few miles up 
the river. 

" During the ride on the tram Captain 
Strong did not open his lips. He stared 
steadily in front of him in a curious kind 
of wav, like a man inexorably pursuing some 
allotted line of action. 

" Arrived at Cho-lon, he struck quickly 
through the squalid streets of the Chinese 
town, looking neither to right nor left, and 
saying not a word. We had passed right 
through the town before he gave me a hint 
of our objective. Then he made a gesture 
upwards, as if to reassure me that we were 
near our journey's end. 

" Beyond the last houses, on an eminence 
backed bv the primeval jungle, a Buddhist 
temple of pagoda fashion rose above us, the 
terminus of the rough track up which we 
were stumbling. As we drew near I saw 




that it was dilapidated, its courtyard over- 
grown, deserted evidently by both priests 
and worshippers. 

" Was this what Captain Strong had come 
to see ? Somewhat puzzled, I glanced at 
his face under . the pith helmet. His lips 
were compressed, his eyes stern as though 
defying some secret danger. At the entrance 
gateway, festooned and almost smothered in 
parasitic vegetation, he stopped and stared 
into the desolate courtyard. Then, after a 
moment of the curious hesitation which I 
had already remarked that day, he entered. 

*' A deathlike stillness brooded over the 
place. The great doorless portal of the 
temple, flanked by huge and staring figures, 
confronted us, opening on to a black, un- 
illumined interior like the entrance to a tomb. 
Weeds grew between the flags of the threshold. 
An atmosphere of indefinable evil, as though 
the very stones held the memory of scfrne 
awful calamity, pervaded the silence. I 
shuddered in a sudden sense of the sinister 
in this abandonment, and glanced involun- 
tarily at my companion as if from hi$ face I 
might divine the cause. It was impossible 
to guess his thoughts. His jaw was locked 
hard, his face expressionless. ^ ♦- 

" Then I perceived that we were not alone. 
Slinking round the outer wall came a 
wretched-looking native. His long robe was 
torn and dirty His yellow face, lit by two 
slanting beady eyes, was emaciated ' and 
sunken. His shaven crown was wrinkled 
to the top. The limbs which protruded from 
his gown were as thin as sticks. In his hand 
he held a beggar's bowl. Remarking us, he 
stopped dead, watching us with his horribly 
bright, ,fev«r-like eyes. Instinctively, I don't 
know why, I put him down as the last of the 
priests, still haunting this once prosperous 
and now deserted temple. 

" Captain Strong took no notice of liim 
and advanced towards the portal. Some- 
what apprehensively, I followed him and 
peered in. but the darkness, by comparison 
with the intense light outside, was so com- 
plete that I could see nothing. My curiosity 
getting the better of my nervousness, I stepped 
inside, though, I confess, rather gingerly. 
After a minute or two, my eyes accustoming 
themselves to the gloom, I could see the 
great bronze figure of the Buddha towering 
above me, facing the door. Its placid face, 
uplifted far above the passions of men, 
looked as though it were patiently awaiting 
the day when this abandonment should 
cease and its worshippers return to adoration 
of its serenity. No precious stone now 
reflected the light from the door, and the 
huge candlesticks on either side of it were 
empty, the days of their scintillating illumina- 
tion long past. 
" Captain Strong, I noticed, remained on 

the threshold, silhouetted black against the 
sunshine ; but, emboldened by my impunity, 
I took another step or two forward. I 
recoiled quietly. Something stirred in the 
lap of the Buddha and a snake erected its 
head in a „ sudden movement. v Its eyes 
gleamed at . me from the shadow like two 
green precipes stones. 

" I swung round to shout a warning to 
Captain Strong. If there was J one there 
were probably others of these deadly guar- 
dians of the divine image. There were. To 
my horror, I saw another snake uncoil itself 
from a crevice in the doorway, on a level 
with his neck, and ^iraw jits head back in the 
poise ' for the fatal dart. I don't know 
whether he heard my inarticulate cry. His 
perception of the danger was simultaneous 
with mine. But he made ncT blundering 
movement of confusion. Swift as lightning 
his hand shot out and grasped the snake 
firmly close under the head, where its fangs 
could not touch him. Then with a quick 
jerk he flung it into the courtyard. The 
snake writhed away in a flash. 
. " Such a display of cool, swift courage I 
have never seen before or since. " I ran out 
to him where he stood in the courtyard 
gazing after the vanished snake, and excitedly 
expressed my admiration. He turned round 
on me with a grim smile and shrugged his 
shoulders. The wretched priest, if priest he 
was, had approached, and he smiled also, a 
foolish, exasperatingly inscrutable smile, like 
an idiot enjoying an imbecile esoteric meaning 
which is a meaning for him alone. Yet at 
the same time I thought there was a sugges- 
tion of sly menace in that cringing grin. - 

" ' Come back into Saigon,' said Captain 
Strong, ignoring him. ' We'll have a drink 
before we go on board.' There was nothing - 
in his manner to remind you that he had just 
escaped death by a fraction. 

" I was not at all sorry to quit this un- 
pleasant place, and I descended that rough 
Fath with considerably more alacrity than 
had mounted it. Captain Strong was as 
coolly self-possessed as though walking down 
the main street of San Francisco. 

'"I must congratulate you on your luck; 
sir/ I ventured, when we had gone a little 
distance. ' Had that snake struck a second 
before ' 

14 ' Bah ! ' he replied, shrugging his shoul- 
ders. ' One can get tired of luck ! ' 

" There was a violence, a sombre bitter- 
ness in his tone which impressed me. I 
thought of all the miraculous good-fortune 
which men attributed to him — a specimen 
of which I had just seen — and wondered 
whether he were really wearied of it. I 
could conceive it possible that a man of his 
type would ftnd life very dull if assured 
beforeha | ^ | ,^^,^ F ^ ffi| ^ It would 



be the struggle, the peril, which would appeal 
to him. 

. " He relapsed into a gloomy silence which 
I did not dare to break. 

" We returned to Saigon on the steam- 
tram, and shortly afterwards we found our- 
selves seated on the deserted terrace of a 
cafk t trickling water through the sugar into 
our absinthe, for all the world as though we 
were in some bankrupt quarter of Marseilles. 
Natives thronged around us, pestering us to 
buy all sorts of worthless trifles in their 
horrible pidgin- French. 

" Suddenly an insinuating voice whined 
into my ear some native words I could not 
understand, and repeated them with a 
wheedling insistence which compelled my 
attention. I looked round into an ugly 
yellow face whose malicious, narrow-slitted 
eyes glittered unprepossessingly above his 
fawning smile. There was something in the 
face that seemed familiar to me, and yet I 
could not place it. Under the conical bamboo 
hat all these Annamites looked alike to me. 
I waved him away, but he was not to be 
shaken off, reiterating over and over again 
his incomprehensible phrase. 

4 1 glanced inquiringly at Captain Strong, 
whom I knew to understand many Chinese 

" ' He's a conjurer and wants to show you 
a. trick,' he explained, contemptuously, 
adding a curt word and nod of assent to the 

" The Annamite beamed idiotically and 
stretched out his skinny hands over the little 

" ' Vous — regard er,' he said, evidently 
making the most of his French, and grinned 
• insinuatingly at me. 

V With a slow, snaky motion of his skele- 
ton-like hands he commenced to make passes 
in the air about six inches above my glass. 
I watched him, at first idly, but gradually 
more and more fascinated as my eyes fol- 
lowed the sinuous movements of his hands. 
Presently, to my astonishment, I saw the 
glass, tall and fairly heavy — a typical 
absinthe glass — commence to rock slightly 
on its base. The direction of the passes 
alt; red to a vertical up and down motion, 
as though his hands were encouraging the 
glass to rise. And sure enough, it detached 
itself from the table and, swaying a little un- 
steadily, rose into the air under the hands 
stUl some distance above it. It ascended 
slowly, as though he were drawing it up 
by a magnetic attraction, to an appre- 
ciable height from the table, say three 
or four inches. Then, as he changed the 
character of the passes again so that they 
seemed to press it down, it sank slowly 
once more to the table. The native, child- 
ishly pleased with this successful exhibition 

of his powers, grinned ingratiatingly at 
lis both. 

" Captain Strong threw a coin upon the 
marble top of the table. The fawning smile 
still upon his ugly face, the conjurer looked 
straight into the skipper's eyes as he gabbled 
some native words of thanks. Then, instead 
of picking up the coin, he suddenly seized 
his benefactor's hand in his skinny grasp and, 
using the captain's forefinger like a pen, 
traced upon the table-top a large ellipse 
which commenced and finished at the jcoin. 
The action was performed so unexpected) y, 
and with such swift strength, that Captain 
Strong had no time to resist. The ellipse 
completed, he flung aside the captain's finger 
and held both his hands outstretched above 
the invisible tracing. If I was astonished 
before, I was amazed now. Where the finger 
had passed over that marble glowed a flexible 
reddish-gold snake, holding in its mouth, like 
a pendant on a chain, not the coin, but a 
brilliantly-flashing jewel of precious stones, 
fashioned into a curious pattern. I heard a 
startled exclamation break from my com- 
panion, but before either of us could utter an 
articulate word the conjurer's hand had 
descended swiftly upon the table. A second 
later both jewel — or coin — and the conjurer 
had disappeared into the throng of watching 

" I glanced at Captain Strong. He was 
deathly pale, and one hand was feeling ner- 
vously over the breast of his silk shirt. Then, 
after a long breath, he turned and smiled at 

" ' Clever trick, that ! ' he said. 

" The assumption of personal unconcern 
was so marked that I felt any remark of mine 
would have been an impertinence. But I 
could not help wondering what Captain 
Strong wore underneath his shirt. 

" He paid the native waiter for our drinks 
and rose from the table without another 
word. We turned our steps towards the 

" ' Come and have supper ait with me 
to-night, Mr. Williamson,' he said, care- 
lessly. ' I meant to have invited you to 
dinner in town, but that restaurant was really 
too depressing.' 

" I thanked him, secretly astonished at the 
invitation. Captain Strong never compro- 
mised his dignity by sitting at table with his 
officers. He ate alone, in the beautifullv- 
fitted saloon under the poop. At the time 
I wondered whether he had some reason for 
preferring my company to his customary 
solitude. But his manner expressed merely 
the courtesy of a superior wishing to give 
pleasure to a young officer. 

" We had arrived on the quay, and I was 
looking over the crowd of vociferating boat- 
men with a view to selecting a sampan for 




our return to the ship, when a sudden cry 
from the captain startled me. 

" 4 Look ! Good heavens ! Look ! Don't 
you see ? ' With one hand he gripped me 
tightly by the shoulder, with the other he 
pointed to the Alary Gleeson anchored in 
mid-stream. ' Look ! The yellow jack ! ' 

** I gazed with him across to the ship, and 
to my horrified astonishment saw the dreaded 
yellow flag, which denotes the presence of 
vellow fever, fluttering in the evening breeze. 
Shocked and alarmed, I asked myself who 
was the victim. There was no sickness 
among the ship's company when we went 
ashore. But I knew well enough the swift- 
ness of death in these latitudes. 

/' ' Quick ! Get a sampan ! ' ordered the 

" Privately, I doubted whether any boat- 
man would venture into the tainted neigh- 
bourhood of a ship with yellow fever on 
board, and I was agreeably surprised to find 
that my only difficulty was to choose among 
the swarm that offered themselves. I could 
only conclude that they did not understand 
the meaning of the emblem. A moment or 
two later we were being propelled swiftly 
across the stream, our eyes fixed upon that 
fatal flag. The second officer stood at the 
top of -the ladder to greet us as we climbed 
on board. 

" 4 All well, sir,' I heard him report in a 
perfectly normal voice. 

' ■' What ? ' ejaculated the captain, in 
astonishment, above me. 

" ' All well, sir,' he repeated. 

" By that time I had joined the captain 
on the deck, and we exchanged a puzzled 
glance. Then we looked around us. To 
our utter bewilderment, of the yellow jack 
there was no sign at all. There was not a 
rag of bunting about the ship. 

"The captain bit his lip and wrinkled 
his brow. I could comprehend his perplexity. 
He turned sharply to the second officer. 

" ' Svendsen, has anyone been monkeying 
with the signal-flags ? ' 

" ' No, sir.' The prompt denial was both 
surprised and emphatic. ' I have been on 
deck myself ever since you went ashore, sir,' 
added the old man, in justification of his 

" ' H'rn ! All right.' The captain shrugged 
his shoulders and turned to me. ' You saw 
it, didn't you ? ' he asked. 

" ' Yes, sir,' I replied, confidently. 

" ' A most extraordinary hallucination ! ' 
he said. ' But don't let it worry you. Come 
and have supper with me at six bells.' 

" I could see plainly that he was much 
perturbed, and I myself felt very uneasy as 
I went below. Following upon the shock of 
the captain's narrow escape from the snake 
in the deserted temple, the strange trick 

of the conj urer at the cafe, and this hallucina- 
tion, shared by both of us, of the most 
dreaded flag a sailor knows, combined to 
awake a primitive superstitious fear in me. 
My nerves were in a state of acute tension, 
and I found myself starting at the most 
ordinary sounds. 

M The captain was normal and cheerful 
enough, however, when at seven o'clock I 
joined him in the beautiful saloon, which he 
had had fitted regardless of expense with 
everything that could minister to his comfort. 
It was his one luxury. The Chinese steward 
stood by the side of the elegantly-laid table, 
ready to serve his master. It was, as I said, 
the first time I had eaten with Captain Strong, 
and I was rather impressed with the refine- 
ment of his private tastes. 

" The meal, an excellent one, passed with- 
out incident. My host was agreeably con- 
versational, but his talk was confined to 
those impersonal subjects which he pre- 
ferred. Not once did he refer to the happen- 
ings of the day, and I felt that it would be 
discretion on my part equally to refrain from 
mention of them. The silent-footed Chang- 
Fu cleared the table, pulled the awnings 
across the open, mosquito-netted skylight, 
switched on the electric lamps, and left us 
to our coffee and cigars. 

" The centre table folded down so as to 
leave a clear space, which made the saloon 
appear larger than it really was, and we 
sat upon a comfortable leather- upholstered 
settee at one end, with our coffee on a little 
Chinese table between us. 

" A tap on the door interrupted our talk, 
and Chang-Fu, the steward, glided into the 
saloon and made a respectful obeisance to 
the captain. 

" ' Master — Chinee conjulor in sampan 
'longside — want speak master. Him number 
one top-hole conjulor — makee plenty-heap 
big tlick — me talkee with him — him velly 
gleat conjulor.' The steward's wheedling 
voice had a note of genuine, awed admira- 
tion in it. ' Master see him ? ' he finished, 
insinuatingly, rubbing his hands together 
under his cringing, wrath-disarming smile. 

" I glanced at the captain. 

" ' I wonder if it is the fellow we saw at 
the cafi 9 sir ? ' I ventured, and then im- 
mediately regretted my words. Like the 
young fellow that I was, I was eager to see 
more of the skill of these Oriental magicians, 
but doubtless the captain would not wish 
again to come into contact with the man 
whose strange trick of converting the coin 
into a jewel had so perturbed him. 

" Possibly he read my thoughts and re- 
sented the suspicion of moral cowardice. 
His tone was curt as he replied : — 

".' Very likely. Bring him down, Chang- 






: " Once more the muscles -stood out along 
his jaw and his face set doggedly. It was 
as though he prepared to confront an adver- 
sary* Fascinated by the mystery which I 
felt underlay all this, I thrilled with a sense 
of high adventure as I saw the captain go to 
a drawer in a locker and get out a heavy 
revolver, which he slipped into his coat- 
pocket. He returned to his seat by my 

'■ A moment later Chang- Fu ushered in 
the conjurer, and discreetly vanished. It 
was indeed the man we had seen at the 
cafe ; more than that, I recognized him 
suddenly, being now without his hat, as the 
man hanging round that deserted temple. 

" He performed one or two clever but not 
particularly remarkable tricks, all. of them 

harmless enough, and my vague suspicions 
of mischief were lulled gradually in the 
interest with which I watched him. Captain 
Strong remained silent, expressionless, I 
noticed that it was towards him that the 
conjurer directed his smiles, and his attention 
that he endeavoured more especially to hold. 
His complete immobility made it impossible 
to guess the effect of the conjurer's man- 
oeuvres ; certainly he did not take his eyes 
from him for a single moment, and his right 
hand remained in the pocket where I knew 
the revolver to be. 

Presently the conjurer produced a large 
bronze bowl — apparently from nowhere- — 
ami made the usual mystic passes in the air 
above it. Smoke began to issue from the 
bow!, a „ thick dark smoke which tilled the 




saloon with a perva3ive and subtly pleasant 
aromatic scent. The smoke rose from the 
bowl in ever denser volumes, curling into 
the air under the saloon roof in such masses 
as to obscure our vision of the farther walls. 
The electric lamps glowed redly as through 
a fog. The sweet, cloying smell of incense 
permeated the atmosphere, made it oppres- 
sive, dulled the brain as . I drew it with 
every breath into my lungs. An insidious 
paralysis stole over me. I felt that I had no 
power over my limbs, could not move a 
muscle. I could only stare fascinated at 
that grotesquely ugly Oriental half-seen in 
the dim light amid the wreathing fumes, his 
skeleton-like hands still sweeping in slow 
and regular passes over the bowl. I heard 
the deep breathing of Captain Strong at my 
side as of a person whose individuality was 
remote from me, hardly to be identified. 
My drugged brain registered only that he 
was as motionless as I. 

" Suddenly the electric lights were ex- 
tinguished — I did not see how, in that fog of 
smoke, but the magician must have had the 
switch explained to him by the steward. 
The darkness was only momentary. On the 
instant almost a dull red glow kindled itself 
in the depths of the bowl, illumined luridly 
the dense masses of smoke which still welled 
up from it. Behind them I caught a glimpse 
of the conjurer's face smiling evilly,, inscru- 
tably, his eyes glittering in the red glow, his 
finger-tips sweeping round and round in the 
fumes. Then— I missed the exact moment 
— he disappeared. A melancholy, sing-song 
chant commenced from somewhere, haunting 
the brain* with its barbaric reiteration of 
meaningless words in a minor key. It was 
like the dreary lament of savage worshippers 
before an idol that remains obstinately mute, 
I remember thinking, vaguely, as I listened 
and watched with fascinated eyes that curl- 
ing, red-tinted smoke rising from the hidden 
flame of the bowl, expecting I knew not what 
of marvellous appearance. 

" Suddenly the smoke rolled away on 
either hand. I found myself looking down 
a vista — not at the darkened cabin-walls, 
but into the bright sunshine of the tropics — 
at a pagoda-like temple where two huge 
carved, staring figures guarded the entrance 
to an interior where lights glimmered. I 
recognized it with a peculiar thrill — the 
temple above Cho-lon ! 

" Not now was the courtyard deserted and 
overgrown with weeds. A throng of natives, 
gesticulating and chattering, though I could 
not hear them, filled it — pressed back on 
either side as though to make way for a pro- 
cession. In that throng was a European in 
a white suit. . He stood out conspicuous in 
the front rank of the Oriental crowd. What 
was there so familiar about that figure ? My 

drugged brain puzzled vaguely for a moment 
or two — and then he turned his face. towards 
me. Captain Strong ! — a younger, slighter 
Captain Strong, but undoubtedly he. I saw 
the flash of his eyes under the heavy brows, 
the living man ! My consciousness checked 
for a moment at this phenomenon of dupli- 
cation, and then accepted it. It seemed 
another part of me that was listening to the 
deep breathing of the man at my side — I felt " 
myself mingling with what I saw almost as 
with actual reality — let myself drift as in a 
dream, where the fantastic ceases to be 

" The procession filled the open space 
between the pressed-back ranks of the 
throng, a procession of priests with shaven 
heads and gorgeous robes, filing into the 
great doorway of the temple. After them 
came a group of young girls, singing evi- 
dently, dancing as they went, and flinging 
flowers on either hand — the young Annamite 
girls, who are so strikingly more attractive 
than their male relatives. I saw one of 
them throw a flower at the foot of the white- 
clad European — saw her provocative smile — 
saw him pick up the flower and fling it 
playfully back into her face — saw him follow 
the throng and press into the temple with 
the crowd. What was that peculiar gasp 
which came from the darkness at my side ? 
A part of me groped with numbed faculties 
for its connection with the bright scene at 
which I gazed fascinated. 

" The picture changed with the sudden- 
ness of a cinematograph film. I found 
myself staring at the great image of the 
Buddha, looming up above its prostrate 
worshippers from amid a blaze of torches. 
On its breast glowed and sparkled the sacred 
jewel — the jewel into which the conjurer had 
transmuted Captain Strong's coin upon the 
marble-topped table of the cafi ! — the jewel 
suspended on a snake of gold. 

" There, conspicuously erect, stood the 
white-clad figure among the worshippers, 
staging up fixedly at the serene immensity 
of the image. The jewel upon its breast 
glowed with a throbbing light like a living 
thing. There was a sudden commotion 
among the crowd. A group of priests came 
up to the white-clad man and pushed him 
gently but firmly out of the temple. 

" Again the scene changed. It was night. 
The moon shone down upon a garden on a 
hillside. Far below, obliterated and revealed 
from instant to instant by the foliage moving 
in the breeze, glittered the clustered points 
of yellow light of a large town. In the 
shadow of the trees lurked a vague white 
figure. Towards it, across the moonlit open 
space, came another — a native girl. I could 
see her clearly. She was r»o daintily beautiful 
that I could not but suspect foreign blood in 

2 14 


her. The best-looking Annamite girl I had 
seen was gross compared with her delicate 
charm. For all that, she was genuinely 
Oriental in type. -Her lithe little figure, clad 
in a simple twisted robe, approached swiftly, 
her head turning from aide to side in bird like 
inquiry, peeping . behind each bush she 
passed. I-t was not -difficult to guess for 
whom she -.-.was looking. The white-clad 

the peculiar little gasp, a sound as of teeth 
clenching upon each other in the enormous 
silence which seemed not to be of this world. 
" My attention was fixed upon the mysteri- 
ous scene before me, so real that I forgot 
the ship's cabin and the conjurer with his 
volumes of smoke. The vision at which I 
gazed was to me actuality. What was 
happening ? The man was speaking, gesticu- 





figure stepped from its shadow, and in another 
moment she was in his arms, 

M Then, with a sudden movement, she 
wriggled out of the impulsive embrace and 
prostrated herself quaintly in a humble little 
obeisance, The white-clad figure stooped 
to lift her up, folded her again in his arms. 
Their lips met in a long, passionate kiss, 
From the darkness at my side, but as it were 
from an immeasurable distance, came again 

lating, pointing away with one hand — the 
girl was shrinking from him in horror, ges- 
turing a desperate- negative, and then letting 
herself he drawn tightly to his breast again 
to lavish her caresses upon him — and finally* 
as he still spoke with the same gesticulation, 
withdrawing herself once more, her hands up 
in agonized protest. What was being de- 
manded of litiTaJ frfcrJield mv breath as I 

wt eWE^Wh.ift!f(iShN Xvhat WM the 


3I 5 

request which was thus convulsing her t-j 
the bottom of her soul ? Whatever it was, 
it was despairfuUy refused. In savage ex- 
operation the man flung her from him to 
the ground, turned his back upon her, and 
strode away. 

/I j ' 


" She raised herself, stared after him 
rouchingly, agony in her face. She stretched 
jut her arms to him, but he did not turn his 
lead. Then, ceding evidently to an over- 
whelming impulse, she sprang to her feet, 
larted after him with the speed of a young 
deer, and flung both her arms passionately 
about his neck. Once more I saw him ask 
her the mysterious question, menace in his 
face. And now she surrendered, clinging 
to him desperately, tears coursing down her 
cheeks, her eyes wild, but every fibre of her 
obviously ready to do his bidding rather 
than lose him," as she nodded her head in 
frantic assent, 

" Once more he spoke, pointing mysteri- 
ously across the garden. She drew away 
from him, her eyes fixed upon his face, her 
bosom filling as with the long, deep breath 
of some tragic resolve, He was inexorable. 
Hopelessly, she prepared to obey, in her 
attitude the touching dignity of fate accepted 

since u>ve imposes 
it, eternal tvumaii 
hood fulfilling it- 
self in immola- 
tion . I felt the 
tears start to my 
eyes, although I 
could not imagine 
w bat was the 
evidently tremen- 
dous sacrifice demanded of her. 
The white-clad man stepped 
once more into the shadow of 
the bushes. With one last 
passionate, yearning look to- 
he moved away, She went 
crouched, huddled into herself like a woman 
whi i creep* forth to commit a crime. 

11 Again the scene changed. I was staring 
at the exterior of the temple in the moon- 
light. The two great figures by the portal 
£aze*i now over an empty courtyard. Only 
the moon -cast shadows of the trees mo vet I 
upon its untenanted space. There was a 
moment of waiting — for I knew- not what, 
but the air was filled with expectation. 
Then, slinking along the wall, scarcely visible, 
with halting, furtive step, I saw the girl 
emerge from the shadows. Like a ghost she 
seemed in the moonlight as she crept up 
to the giant figure by the portal, peered 
cautiously into the interior darkness, where 
two yellow flames glimmered. She slipped 
into the gloom like a pale shadow that flits 
across the wall 

11 And then, I know not how, I found my- 
self looking as from the doorway into the 
interior. Between two guttering torches the 
great image lifted itself up into a smoky 
obscurity, the glinting jewel stid upon its 
breast— the jewel that w F as suspended by a 
flexible snake of reddish gold. With an 
impressive serenity the great calm face 
looked straight before it, its hands stretched 
out fron^^o^^ft*., crossed 

I r 



tor its squatting, ' earth- touching " position- 
Below it, on the steps of the altar, a priest 
squatted also, his shaven head nodding for- 
ward in the sleep of a vigil excessively pro- 
longed* By the portal stood the shrinking 
figure of the girl, staring in terror at the 
jewel winking in the uncertain light of the 
expiring torches. 

'* For a long, long moment she stood there, 
unable to move, her face looking as carven 
in its fixed immobility as the image itself. 
With a sympathetic thrill I realized the 
awful superstitious dread which had her in 
its grip. Then her human love triumphed. 
I saw her glide stealthily towards the giant 
figure, so stealthily that the nodding head of 
the somnolent priest altered not in the 
regularity of its drowsy rise and fall, so 
stealthily that she seemed but a part of the 
shifting shadows cast by the candelabra of 
the torches. Nimbly and cautiously she 
clambered from the altar- steps to the knee 
of the mighty image, drew herself up to 
the arm outstretched in benediction. She 
balanced herself precariously, rose suddenly 
upright upon it, and snatched at the jewel. 

** The clasp of the flexible gold snake 
brukc with the violence of her pull. I saw 
it slide like a little stream of ruddy fire into 

her hands, saw the last flash of the jewel as 
she stuffed it into her bosom. And then, 
with a start, the priest looked up. 

" Ere he could do more than spring to his 
feet she had leaped down with the sure- 
footed agility of a mountain-girl. In a quick 
movement she evaded his clutch, was gone. 

4t Once more I found myself looking at the 
garden where the white-clad figure Wied 
in the shadows. A moment of waiting, then 
down the moonlit open space came the 
flitting figure of the girL Swiftly blie 
approached, panic in her wild flight, in the 
beautiful features now 1 close enough for 
distinct view. She was sobbing as she ran, 
The man stepped out to her. She stopped, 
stood for a second regarding him with a 
look of inexpressible reproach, and then, 
averting her head, thrust into his eager grasp 
the sacred jewel. He slipped it into his pocket 
and caught her in his arms. She gazed at 
him in yearning doubt, her head drawn back, 
her soul seeming to question him through 
her eyes, and then suddenly she flung herself 
towards him, her bare arms round his neck, 
her mouth on his, kissing him in a passionate 
paroxysm of caresses* Desperately she 
yielded herself to him t frenzied I y claiming 
the reward for her crime — his love, i saw 





the tears rolling down her cheeks as shj 
kissed him eagerly again and again, all else 
forgotten but absorption in his presence. 
In a thrill of apprehension I remembered 
the priest. Surely the alarm was given — 
a horde of fanatics searching for her while 
she lingered so recklessly I Despite the utter 
silence in which all this passed, I almost 
fancied I could hear the sonorous booming 
of a gong. 

" MLy apprehension quickened to a stab of 
acute alarm. There, slinking towards them 
in the shadows, as stealthily as a cat, 
came a crouching figure, nearer and 
nearer from behind. The steel 

blade he clutched flashed in the 

moonlight. His face looked 

up, illumined in the soft 

radiance which suffused the 

garden. I recognized it— 

the priest who had 

slumbered at his 

post 1 — and then, 

with a curious 

little internal 

shock, but 

vaguely, as if 

these later inci- 
dents belonged 

to another 

existence, the 

full recogni- 
tion dawned 

upon me — -the 

wretched native 

who had loitered 

alxmt the de- 
serted pagoda 

of Cho-lon, the 

seemed to be only a watching brain , 
divorced irorn all the other organs of the 
body. He leaped. 

conjurer of the cafi, the conjurer who — 
ages since — had filled the saloon of the Mary 
Gfceson with smoke and incense from the 
red fire of a bronze bowl ! His ugly face 
contorted with vindictive cunning, he crept 
now upon the oblivious lovers locked in 
their passionate embrace* I saw him gather 
himself for the spring, the long, murderous 
knife openly in his hand. In a spasm of 
horror all of me tried frantically to shriek a 
warning, but 1 could not utter a sound. I 

* T h ere was a 
glimmer of cold light 
as the knife descended. I 
waited, my heart stopping, in 
doubt as to the victim. The un- 
certainty lasted but an instant, The e gtrl p 
struck in the back, turned her face tip to the 
sky and crumpled to her knees like a 
marionette whose string is cut. For one 
long moment the grinning, evil face of «■ the 
priest, tugging to release his knife, and the 
horrified eyes of the white man looked into 
each other in a silence which was appalling 
m its complete soundlessness. Then the 
white man struck savagely downwards upon 
the shaven head and sprang away into the 

" Again T heard a gasp, a choked -back cry, 
from the obscurity at the side of me. But 
now it Mg^^^.^^ftf^^earer. and 



as my bewildered faculties tried to apprehend 
it, to identify the source which I knew 
vaguely must be familiar to me and yet 
could not bring to consciousness, my atten- 
tion wandered for a moment. When I looked 
again the vision had disappeared. There 
was no longer garden or temple. There was 
only redly-illumined smoke rolling upward 
from a dull red glow and an atmosphere of 
sweet, sickly fumes that held my body in a 
drugged paralysis. 

" Still I gazed, fascinated. Those thick, 
wreathing masses of smoke were shaping 
themselves — shaping themselves into some- 
thing — something columnar. I watched like 
one in a dream, and as I watched a part of 
me attained to consciousness of Captain 
Strong sitting in frozen immobility by the 
side of me. The wreathing smoke coalesced, 
formed itself into something whose outlines 
were not yet clear. A brighter, yellower 
light emanated from below it, lit it up. A 
body — a vague female body — collected itself, 
and then a girl's head, strangely beautiful 
for all its almond eyes and scanty brows, 
smiled upon us, suddenly vivid and real. I 
recognized it with a shock — the girl of the 
garden ! She and her body were now one 
complete living organism that moved sinu- 
ously from the hips. I held my breath in 
awe. Whereas the visions I had been watch- 
ing were like pictures at a distance, this was 
an actual living woman a few feet from us. 
The smoke disappeared. 1 was staring at a 
beautiful native woman, as real as you or I, 
mysteriously illumined in yellow light against 
a background of obscurity, who stood where 
the fumes had writhed upwards from the 

" Conscious as I now was of Captain 
Strong's close neighbourhood, I craved to 
turn to him for astonished comment. But 
still my body was deprived of function ; I 
could not move a muscle. He made neither 
move nor sound. Then I almost forgot him 
in the fascinated interest which this appari- 
tion compelled. 

" Swaying slightly, with a free, graceful 
motion of the hips, she moved from her place. 
Her mouth parted in a pathetic little smile of 
melancholy, her dark eyes gazing, not at 
mc, but at something at my side, in soulful, 
yearning appeal, she glided towards us 
through a hushed silence where I could hear 
my own heart beat. Slowly she detached 
her arms from the simple robe which swathed 
her, stretched them out imploringly, with a 
wistful smile that seemed to beseech a diffi- 
cult confidence, to the companion at my side, 
to Captain Strong. Once more I heard the 
gasp of his laboured breathing. 

" She approached, and it seemed to me 
that she and I and the panting figure at my 
Side whom I could not turn my head to see 

were the only things existing in a world that 
was otherwise dark. She was illumined from 
head to foot, clearly and definitely detached 
from her surroundings. I marked the soft, 
lithe roundness of her form. Did she speak ? 
Her lips moved, but I heard nothing, although 
it seemed to me that a gently-uttered name 
echoed far away in illimitable space, echoed 
endlessly as though ringing through the vast, 
incommensurable soul of things past, present, 
and to be. - 

" A name was breathed distinctly, as- in 
awed answer, from the obscurity at my side. 
* Hea-Xan ! Hea-Xan ! ' The wistful smile 
on the beautiful face sweetened as in grateful 
recognition. The eyes softened in a tender 
fondness that had nevertheless a strange, 
remote dignity. Xot now did she give her- 
self up to the passionate abandonment of 
that moonlit garden. Love still yearned 
from her, but it was the eternal love of the 
soul that looks to the unimaginable realities 
beyond the body. 

" Slowly, slowly she approached, until it 
seemed that the hands of her outstretched 
arms would brush my sleeve as they reached 
towards the man I felt recoil back into the 
darkness at my side. I looked up into 
the face of a living, breathing woman — saw 
the faint flush upon her Asiatic complexion 
— saw the dark eyes glowing, swimming in 
a bath of tears. Once more the lips moved 
silently — once more the answering name — 
' Hea-Xan ! ' — came in an emotionally ex- 
lialed whisper from the man who could draw 
back no farther. 

" She smiled, a smile of radiant forgive- 
ness, of understanding, and — so it seemed — 
of pity, and then I saw her arms make a 
quick movement. From the shadow at my 
side she plucked something, held it aloft. 
The sacred jewel of the Buddha blazed in the 
mouth of the reddish-gold snake that seemed 
to curl alive about her arm. For one long 
moment I looked up at her, her face glowing 
strangely in the glory of the recovered jewel, 
yet still a living, human woman, with lips 
that parted as I watched — and then I found 
myself staring into a smother of smoke, from 
which issued a ghastly, mocking laughter. 

" The red glow near the floor expired in 
one last flicker. There was a stab of flame, 
the simultaneous deaf eningly- violent detona- 
tion of a revolver fired close to my ear, a 
savage cry of furious menace, another gloat- 
ing chuckle of laughter — and then darkness 
and silence. 

" Brought suddenly to myself, I struggled 
to my feet in the choking fumes and groped 
feverishly for the switch of the electric light. 
I found it, and the lamps sprang into dull 
illumination of the smoke-filled cabin. The 
door was open. The conjurer had dis- 

ap ^ r m&racfti# sh * the river 



under the open ports;' and was left no doubt 
that* he was beyond 1 our reach. Then, in 
sudden alarm at his silence, I turned to look 
lor Captain Strong. 

" He was stretched back unconscious upon 
the settes where we had sat together, his 
hand still grasping the revolver, which he 
had vainly fired with his last strength. He 
Iuoked livid, pale as death, and for a moment 
I thought the native had murdered him. 
But I could find no mark on hii$, and pre- 
sently he opened his eyes, began to murmur 
delirious phrases. I saw at a glance that he 
was very ill, with the illness that frightens 
you when you see it in a place like Saigon. 
With some difficulty, for he was a heavy man, 
1 lifted him to his bunk and put him to bed. 
As I loosened the shirt from about his throat 
I noticed, with a thrill of the uncanny which 
made me shudder, that round his neck was a 
circling line of blanched skin, and on his 
chest a similar, broader patch. But the 
amulet whoss long wearing had evidently 
caused thesa maks had disappeared csm- 
pl t?ly. 

"Half an hour later I was being rowed in 
all haste to the black Messageries Maritimes 
boat moored in the river, and claiming the 
services of her doctor. 

" It was hopeless from the first, and we 
both knew it. Captain Strong died before 
morning, raving native words in his delirium 
and calling incessantly a native name — 
* Hea-Nan ! Hea-Nan ! ' 

" At dawn I looked up to see the yellow 
jack fluttering from the masthead precisely 
as, not twelve hours before, I had seen the 
vision of it from the quay." 

Captain Williamson stopped, glanced at 
his burnt-but cheroot, threw it away, and 
selected another one carefully from his 

" Well, professor, what do you make of 
that ? V he asked, as he struck a match: 

The professor assumed an air of wisdom 
superior to any mystery. 

" Of course " he said, " there is no doubt 
what happened. Captain Strong was prob- 
ably infected with yellow fever coming up 
the river. Years before, he had instigated 
a native girl to rob that Buddhist temple on 

his behalf, and finding himself back at the 
place he was impelled — it is a common 
psychological phenomenon in criminals — to 
revisit the scene of his crime. The ex-priest 
saw him and recognized him, and, wishing 
to make quite sure whether he still possessed 
the sacred jewel, he hypnotized- him by 
chaining his conscious attention on his little 
conjuring trick at the cafi, and then suggested 
to him the vision of the jewel by outlining 
it with his subject's finger on the table. 
Captain Strong's exclamation and his gesture 
would be sufficient evidence that he still 
wore it. 

" As for the scene in the saloon, it was 
hypnotism on a large scale, induced by the 
use of the drugs with which the atmosphere 
was filled. Captain Strong's subconscious 
mind came to the top and lived once again 
through the episodes of the robbery and the 
death of his agent, seeing them, as is the 
habit of the subjective mind when released 
from the control of the objective surface 
consciousness, like actual present facts. The 
hallucination of the girl as a living presence 
in the cabin is, of course, explained by the 
silent suggestion of the priest acting on the 
already highly-excited subconsciousness of 
the guilty man. Just as I can make a 
hypnotic patient believe that you are some- 
one else and see you as someone else, so the 
conjurer himself, under cover of the vision 
he had suggested, approached the wearer 
of the sacred jewel and snatched it from his 
neck. The emotional crisis undergone by 
Captain Strong would, of course, hasten the 
onset of the yellow fever already in his body." 

" H'm I " objected Captain Williamson, 
" but that doesn't explain why I should 
share these visions." 

The professor was nothing daunted. 

" Of course," he said, " you were in close 
propinquity to Captain Strong, and were 
doubtless what is known as en rapport with 
him. The vision of the yellow flag — the not 
uncommon hallucination of a death-symbol, 
produced by the subconsciousness of a doomed 
person— was communicated to you when the 
captain gripped your shoulder " 

" Have a whisky-and-soda, professor," in- 
terrupted the planter, coarsely, " and don't 
spoil a good story." 



if iS 


Original from 




Written^ and Iffusti~&fied hy 


HERE is a story told of a 
lady in America who, in 
conversation with a hunting 
man from England, said : "1 
can't understand how you 
can do much fox-hunting in 
England. I suppose you just 

chase the poor little animal round and 

round the island till you catch him [ " 

The American idea of fox-hunting is often 

rather quaint, and I can remember another 

case, an experience of my own, illustrating 

this. A young man from somewhere in 

the North of America, or it may be Canada 

— whose ideas and language somewhat 

savoured of what one connects with the 

old Hudson Bay fur trading — in all 

seriousness asked me one day when out 

with a pack of 

hounds to which 

I was acting as 

whip, 'Say, when 

you catch the fox 

what do you do 

with the pelt ? " 

Later in the day 

he witnessed to 

what " tatters of 

brown " a pack 

of foxhounds re- 
duced the said 

pelt. On another 

occasion the same 

youth, looking on I 

at our attempts 

to bolt a fox 

we had run to 

ground, asked, 

" Shall I give him 

a shot if he comes 

out? " and seemed 

rather surprised 



that he should not be permitted to use the 
shooting-iron " which he evidently had 
secreted somewhere on his person. 

It is a kind of tradition that foxhounds 
are kept for the purpose of keeping down 
foxes. This may have been their original 
object, but I think there is little doubt 
that, but for their existence in modern 
times, the fox in this country would soon 
be extinct 

The lady who wondered how they hunted 
in our " tight little island " would be sur- 
prised to know that there are in round figures 
something like five hundred packs of hounds 
of different kinds kept fur hunting in Britain, 
of which upwards of two hundred chase the 
fox " round and round the islands/' 

Some of these packs have been in existence 

more tlian two 
hundred years ; 
that is to sav, 
there are records 
of them as es- 
tablished packs 
for that time, 
though no doubt 
the origin of some 
is of much earlier 

That hunting 
is the oldest of 
1 sports J " is an 
obvious fact 
which need not 
be dwelt upon. 
That it no doubt 
originated in the 
necessity of kill- 
ing wild animals 
for food makes 
little difference, 
hvhtingQBWP' No' doubt the 




sporting element was discovered as early as 
the Stone Age, -5Uid men of that time followed 
the chase for love of it f as well as for food. 

The hunting instinct is inherent in all 
carnivorous animals, from man downwards, 
aixl always will be as long as the world lasts. 

When following the chase on horseback 
began* no one knows, but it must have 
been very shortly after the discovery of the 
horse, as a means of transport, The first 
horseman, • I expect, had an exciting time, 
and 1 have no doubt supplied as much 
amusement to his friends as the modern 
tyro who essays the equestrian art for the 
first time. 

Somehow the back of a horse is always an 
excellent stage from which to display the 
humours of incompetence, 

I once heard of a middle-aged Jew who, 
for some reason, had to learn to ride. He 
was accordingly mounted upon a very placid 
and suitable animal. After sitting in the 
saddle for some time and having gained 
sufficient confidence, he addressed the animal 
in a mild and conciliatory tone and said t 
"' Now commence 
-commence I " 
1 So far as one 
can tee, hunting 
in; some places 
at least is rather 
" booming " after 
the war, and 
many Jews and 
Gentiles not 
" born m the 
saddle H are tak- 
ing to it, 

Many people 
have made 
money during 
the war — some 
may be ** pro- 
fiteers Jl — and a 
number of all 
these are no 
doubt going to 
form a propor- 
tion o f the 
M field" of the 
future, in fact, 
do so now, es- 
pecially in what are known as the ' Home 
Counties." Some of them may be counted 
upon to supply a humorous element, to begin 
with at least, until they learn the techni- 
calities and traditions of the hunting-field. 
Even if he can sit upon a horse reasonably 
well, the man who has never seen beans 
except on the dinner-table cannot be ex- 
pected to recognise that most easily-damaged 
Cf op, and respect it, when showing only a 
couple of little green leaves above the ground, 


w T arned to " 'Ware wneat ,s as Phil May's 
Cockney in Punch, who replied, " Why, it 'a 
only mud I J ' 

The uninitiated can hardly be expected to 
know that the huntsman's or whip's Vl 'Ware 
J oss ! " is riot so much addressed to a hound 
to warn hini to get out of the way of a 
horse, as to the rider of the animal himself. 

In the hunting-field there are many little 
opportunities of unenviable distinction, like 
the opening of a gate, should the novice 
chance to find himself in the front of an 
impatient crowd at such an obstruction. If 
he takes the wrong hand to it and " foozles/ 1 
he will, in all probability, be told with great 
frankness what is thought of him and where 
he ought to be. 

Many fields are full at present of young 
soldiers — ,H Soldier homcers," as Jorrocks 
used to call them : they are seldom million- 
aires, and some of them frankly state that 
they are tJ blewing M their gratuity, and 
intend to have a good time while it lasts. 
From what I know of them, I don't think 
there is anyone more capable of getting value 

for their money 
in this way. 

Some of them 
may possibly 
have only learned 
the noble art of 
during the war, 
but youth is 
adaptive, and 
bar a few well- 
known charac- 
teristics of not 
fully - informed 
sports nu 'ii, r-n.ii 
as pressing; upon 
the hounds be- 
fore they have 
settled properly 
to a line, or at a 
check, they can 
be counted upon 
to pick up a 
working know- 
ledge of the sport 
pretty rapidly, 
All these new- 
people will not tend to make the life of 
the M.F.H, any more a bed of roses than 
heretofore. A master has need of many 
qualities to cope with the various situations 
which from time to time arise, and the ideal 
master is a far a avis who would go far in 
most w T alks of life, Their methods vary 
enormously, from the plentiful use of strong 
language to the gentle satire which is often 
quite as effective* 

There is an old Utlf; told >f a sportsman 


> vp 

and he will be in much the same position if who, rmvmgiitekCT^ hunting 




somewhat late in life, found himself, in the 
very first hunt he had selected, come under the 
critical eye of the master in connection with 
some unconscious impropriety. He received 
such a " telling off " that he removed to 
another country, only to have the bad for- 
tune to again fall into the bad grace and 
under the rough tongue of its master, who 
was widely celebrated for his language. Our 
unfortunate tyro again removed, this time 
leaving the fashionable countries, and try- 
ing a more provincial one in search of 
peace* Again bad luck pursued him, and 
the provincial master tried to tell him in his 
most forcible language what he thought of 
him, until the unfortunate worm turned and 
stopped him with- the remark, *' It's no use 
your trying to do that .; 1 "ve. been cursed by 
Blank in Leicestershire, I've been cursed bv 
Blanket y- Blank in Ireland, and anything 
you can do doesn't sound more than the 
mere humming of a bee compared to them/' 
It would be difficult to say what is the most 
effective kind of master, but I have always 
been strongly of opinion that a great deal 
depended on where the master was. Some 
seem to have the faculty of always being in 
the right place at the critical moment t and 
exercise a moral effect far greater than the 

man whose voice is heard shouting from 
behind, It is so easy not to hear. 

In dealing with all questions connected 
with hunting, the secretary and treasurer, 
and nowadays the " cap " collector — gene- 
rally voluntary workers — cannot be for- 
gotten ; in fact, there is little danger of their 
allowing themselves to be. Sound finance is 
a part of all successful undertakings, and with 
the cost of everything so increased, the work of 
these gentlemen is by no means a sinecure, 

During five years of war *' carrying on " 
has taxed the utmost efforts of the few 
sportsmen who, debarred for one reason or 
another from serving abroad, devoted what 
time war work at home allowed to keeping 
going the sport they loved, To them, all who 
hunt owe more than they will ever be able to 
r&p&y* Among others, some retired hunt 
servants once more donned the old pink 
and again mounted saddles they had long: 
relinquished to the younger generation, often 
occupying much subordinate positions to 
what they had held, but helping to carry on 
the good work and keep things going, so that 
the dreams of the trenches of " a good hunt 
when it is all over " could come true for the 
sport sman '^ho had the good fortune to 

" BfflWlftm^'tolCHIGAN 



Hunt servants are very much a class by 
themselves,; the profession running in families 
often for many generations, and those who 
rise, to be huntsmen are very often men of 
considerable character, their life generally 
developing it as time goes on. 

The uninitiated can hardly realize what 
go&to the making of a successful huntsman. 
Courage, determination, initiative. and 
rapidity of thought are a few of the many 
requisites. * Added to them you often find 
mAny graces as well ; associating with all 
classes widens their outlook on humanity. 
And the necessity for observation, know- 
ledge of character, and often a considerable 
deal of diplomacy, makes the best of them 
good-mannered and ready-witted. The Duke 
of Beaufort's late huntsman, Will Dale, was 
an example of a man beloved by everyone 
who knew him, who, without ever trying to 
be anything more than a huntsman, was one 
of Nature's gentlemen. He always had a 
ready answer for peer or peasant, often 
stttmgly tinged with humour. 1 remember 
a kvmfcwhat excited stranger galloping up 
to- him in that stronghold for foxes, Great - 
wood, to say that the fox had gone away at 
the' bottom of the cover, to which Will 
replied- v ( Thanks, sir ; but I think the 
main body's up at the top.** In his own 

country I suppose there were few huntsmen 
of whom more stories were told than old Will 
Shore, who died a few years ago, and who 
hunted the Duke of Buceleuch s hounds in 
Scotland for a great number of years. His 
wit was of the very driest description, so 
much so indeed that one could recognize a 
tale told in that country as one of Will's from 
that quali t y alone . I have f orgott en ma n y , bu t 
one remark conrcs to mind made to a young 
gentleman who was riding a well-known and 
very ancient hireling. The rider, after more 
or less getting among the hounds at a meet, 
said to Shore, 'Confound this brute; IWwon't 
keep still for a moment/* Will's reply was, 
"Give him a little time, Mr, William, give him 
a little time, and he h H be still long enough, 1 ' 

It is sincerely hoped that the present *" boom" 
may continue, but as there have been many 
dangers successfully weathered, there are 
others which may be serious in the future. 

The hunting-field has lost many staunch 
friends who possibly were not much in the 
limelight, the smaller men wlio just managed 
in time past to keep one or two horses and 
hunt in a quiet way, but whom changed 
times, increased costs, and often diminished 
incomes have reduced to "Shankss mare." 
These generally lived in the country all the 
year-round, were of it, and were really rnort 





used to it than the bigger man who possibly 
hunted more and kept more horses, but was 
away the rest of the year and really did not 
know neighbouring farmers over whose land 
he rode j or understood much of the small 
matters which go to make up country life 
and the success of a hunt as a part of it. 
Will the new recruits make up for their loss ? 
Time only will show, 

One good sign is that farmers are on the 
increase in the field, an increase that is 
earnestly to be desired. Farmers, taken all 
round, have always been the friends of hunt- 
ing, but in the lean times had little chance to 
indulge in it. Now that times are better, if 
the labour difficulties were overcome, we 
may hopefully look to see more farmers and 
their sons hunting. 

Farmers provide the land, the first neces- 
sity, but unfortunately it is seldom that they 
can provide the money necessary to carry on 
hunting, This, in the case of some of the old 
family packs, was provided from the private 
purse of the head of that family. The 
prospect of this continuing in even the few 
cases surviving is small— the breaking up of 
large estates will affect hunting as much as 
or more than anything else. 

The new recruits to hunting should keep it 
in mind that the sport has always been carried 
on greatly by the rich paving for what the 
poorer could not, and, if hunting is to continue 
he who can afford it must pay cheerfully for 
more than what he considers his share; 

Hunt committees may issue a list of mini- 
mum subscriptions accepted, but this must 
not be taken — as often in the case of con- 
trolled prices — as the maximum also. 

If 1 may advise the beginner who is 
genuinely keen, his best place is not the 
Shires, but some smaller country, where they 
will welcome him and his subscription, and 
where he will often get much more for his 
money, as his money will do more for the hunt, 
and more sport than among what Jorrocks 
called the " top-sawyers " in the Midlands, 

Let him re in ember, wherever he is, that 
hunting is, and should be, a democratic sport, 
and the more so it is the longer it will 
live. Soldier, sailor, tinker, tailor, can come 
out hunting. No class distinctions debar 
from the hunting- field, and probably the tailor 
whom the master reproved for riding up a fur- 
row* in a wheat -field and who replied that he 
was only " tiding up the seam " was as real a 

2 25 






THE sound of 
a deliberate 
footstep was 
heard ascend- 
ing the zinc - edged 
treads of the public 
stair. It caused the 
young woman who sat at a large , . 
writing-table strewn, with papers to 
raise her head. -**,-.• - 

As she sat she was not facing that 
door, but sideways to it ; and she did 
not turn her head as the owner of the foot; 
step entered, but bent it over the letter on 
her blotting-pad, saying quietly, " Good 

" Good morning, Miss Western/' was the 
frigid rejoinder. 

The man who closed the door and crossed 
the room was still youngish, and suggested, 
by some effect of his smooth-shaven face and 
careful morning dress, a statesman or mem- 
bar of Parliament. His hair was dark, and 
was beginning to recede from his forehead. 
His lips were thin and his expression cold. 

His own table stood nearer the fire — a desk- 
table, perfectly clean, well polished, and tidy. 
Upon its blotting-pad lay two piles of letters, 
each held down by a weight, and each with 
some kind of note pencilled in blue on its 
upper corner, showing that his secretary had 
been through them before him. 

Mr. Cazalet took up the papers, stared at 
them vaguely, selected one, and seemed to 
read it — Miss Western felt sure that he only 
seemed to read it. In the atmosphere there 
was a tensity, an embarrassment, a con- 
sciousness . . . 

She felt that if the bursting of the storm 
w*re much longer delayed, she must begin 
^ giggle hysterically. 

She tfas a tall, elegant woman, not much 

under thirty, and her 
business attire was 
purposely plain and 
severe. Her abundant 
hair, bronze - brown, 
was too tightly coiled. 
One felt tha't, with 
the right treatment, she would be very 
handsome — her complexion, though 
pale with the pallor of one who lives 
inan office, was of fine texture, almost 
faultless.* Her expression was resolute, 
and the corners of her mouth set almost 

Cazalet cleared hii^throat. It was coming ! 
She felt absurdly impelled to grip the arms 
of her seat, as though it had been a dentist's 

" It seems — er — to me, Miss Western, that 
we must come to an understanding respecting 
— respecting — the subject — I should say, 

respecting your attitude " 

She interrupted him, but quietly enough : 
" Respecting what took place vesterday ? " 
" Ah ! Precisely." 

He moved to the hearthrug — that tribunal 
of the Englishman's Home — and stood before 
the excellent fire judicially. " I was too 
much annoyed, last night, to realize fully th i 
extent to which I disapproved of what von 

had done — or said " 

" Both ! " 

The second interruption seemed to dis- 
concert him. He adjusted his pince-nez an i 
stared at her fixedly. " I — came to certain 
conclusions/' he said, almost defiantly, as one 
determined to have his say, " though I 
own that your — your — the position you mav 
take up this morning, might do much to 
modify them." 

" What conclusions, Mr. Cazalet ? " 
• ; ' After studying th<s situation in all its 



bearings, I decided that if you adhere to last 
night's attitude — if, I say — I can no longer 
retain your services." 

It was out. Philippa did not even look up. 

44 I expected it," she replied, evenly. " Am 
I to count my notice from to-day ? " 
. He was now quite evidently taken aback. 
He had launched his thunderbolt only to find 
it foreseen— discounted. For this, it seemed, 
he was unprepared. But, since she made no 
atternpt to challenge his decision, he began, 
unreasonably,. to defend it. 

" My secretary must be at my orders — 
accept my decisions — defer to my judgment. 
That one. in your position should take upon 
herself to refuse, jn my name, an invitation 
I had not so much as seen — and should then 
proceed to justify her action in terms I can 
only describe as offensive — branding me as 
a traitor to my country because I wish to 
attend a meeting of excellent persons, all 
bent upon the laudable airn of showing' kind- 
ness to our late enemies; — this, I repeat, to 
my mind constitutes an attitude which I 
cannot condone." 

44 The critic on the hearth, in fact ! I 
quite see. It does not do." 

44 Do ? I should think not. The freedom 
of language which you permitted yourself 
yesterday — why, I would not allow my best 
friend to speak so to me ! " 

44 No, I fear you wouldn't. That is the 
pity of it." 

He surveyed her with a bewildered mien. 
" You, too," he suggested, presently — and, 
whether he knew it or not, his voice was a 
plea — " have had time* for cool reflection. 
It is possible that you have come to view 
your probably well-meant interference in 
another light ? If so, you will find me 
ready " — he broke off, for she had shaken 
her head — quietly,, but quite unmistakably. 

44 You say No ! I am to gather that you 
feel no regret for the line you adopted ? " 

She rose to her feet. " I did not speak in 
the heat of anger. I thought well before I 
spoke. I cannot withdraw a word." 

" Nor apologize ? " 

" No. Unless it be an apology to say I 
am sorry I was forced to hurt your feelings. 
I am aware I behaved more as your friend 
than as your paid automaton. I wanted to 
save you — to hold you back from a morass, 
in which you are allowing yourself to flounder. 
Look there ! " She pointed to the heap of 
letters on his desk. 44 Examine those ! 
They all came this morning ! See who the 
writers are ! Foreign Jews, creeping traitors, 
wild cranks, headlong faddists, and fanatics ! 
Nice company for you ! They think they 
have you won over ! And you ask me to 
say I regret doing my feeble bit to hold you 
back ! " 

" That will do, thank you, Miss Western." 

" Agreed, Mr. Cazalet. I leave you this 
day week, and " 

44 This day week ! Surely not so soon ! 
How am I to replace you in a week i '* 

Philippa shrugged her shoulders. ' 4 That 
is your affair. My" engagement is by the 
week. I suggest y&u write and ask one of 
your new friends— say Sir Lazarus Lopez — 
to help you. He could jeasily provide you 
with someone who would never be tempted 
to criticize your flirtations with treason." 

" Miss Western, you forget yourself." 

44 I iear that is so. But I remember my 

He bit his lip and turned to the mass of 
correspondence before him. 

44 We had better begin our work." 

For more than an hour they worked There 
was a longish pause before he took up and 
examined the letter from ^he great Sir 
Lazarus, which lay on the top of the second 

44 Dear Sir Lazarus," said he at last. 

Philippa raised her head. In each smooth 
cheek there burned a rose the member of 
Parliament had never seen there. " I beg 
your pardon — have you read, not merely 
Sir Lazarus's letter, but the document he 
encloses ? " 

Cazalet swallowed hard. 

44 That is not your affair " 

44 Forgive me, I must contradict you. 
I ought to warn you that I may think it 
my duty to inform the Government, should 
what you write be, in my judgment, dangerous 
to the State." 

He sprang to his feet. 44 My confidential 
secretary ! " he thundered. 

44 Yes. Nothing can be stronger than your 
claim upon my silence, except my country's 
claim upon my speech." 

He strode up and down the room, and 
something like an oath came from between 
his compressed lips. 

44 Perhaps," she suggested, " I had better 
leave at once — without notice ? How can we 
go on working together as things are now ? " 

He burst out, bringing down a clenched 
hand upon his desk. 

44 This is preposterous ! Incredible ! I 
fully expected to find you reasonable this 
morning ! You always have been eminently 
reasonable ! People have asked me it I 
don't find a lady secretary taking offence at 
trifles, shedding tears if corrected — and I 
have laughed at them ! I have found you a 
model of punctuality, decorum, silence." 

44 So that, now the Lord has opened the 
mouth of the ass, you are very naturally 
both annoyed and surprised. Let me make 
a suggestion. There are just three letters 
there which you must answer yourself, not 
letting me see what you write. I can jnanace 










He looked at her darkly ; then, with a 
quick sigh of relief* dropped into his chair. 

" Very well, take this." 

It was all finished at last, and Miss Western 
retired to tier typewriter in the back office 
tu transcrilx* ; while her chief took his un- 
willing pen and scribbled two untidy notes 
and a letter of some length. 

Presently Philippa came back, holding in 
her hand some small compact pages of typed 
matter, fastened neatly together. She laid 
them on his desk. ft Notes for the Hen wood 
Heath meeting/' said she. " with special 
view to the agricultural heckler, I went 
over there last Saturday and collected one or 
two little facts which ought to help von/' 

As he took up the notes he lifted his eyes 
to her face almost beseechingly. Von 
went down there — on your one free day — to 
supply me with data ? M His eye ran over 
the terse, pithy phrases. ' Jove, that ought 
to settle them ! Very good — good indeed ! 
You can rely upon this information ? " 

u It rests on the carefully -sifted evidence 
of natives* See this, about the rearing of 
calves, and oil-cake. You know how they 
harp upon the cost of feeding. I took the 
trouble to find out exactly how much oil- 
cake went into the district in the course of 
last year. Two hundredweight — among eighty 
or ninety farmers ! That ought to pulverize 
them ! •'■ 

His set lips relaxed into a smile, quickly 
chased by a worried frown. " What on 
earth am I going to do without you ? " 

She turned away* " Oh p there are as good 
fish in the sea as ev«r came out ! " 

He grew a little red and fumbled with his 

Couldn't we— how would it be to go 
on — to try to do as we have done this 
morning— leaving me to attend to this 
correspondence which you object to ? n 

She turned, in great surprise. 

' You mean — you withdraw your notice ? " 

He reddened, not looking up. But he 

4t I'm sorry. But I can't, I must go. 
I won't be a party to what is going on. In 
a day or two more you will be helplessly 
committed. IVe shot my bolt, and vainly, 
1 can't stay on and see the results." 

Well/' he said, angrily, fingering the 
papers he held, " I never should have thought 
von would be so ready to go/' 

She laugheil bitterly. ' You think a 
woman throws awav her dailv bread 
lightly ? " 

' Daily bread ? " he echoed, incredulously. 

" And that's not the worst," she went on, 
hurriedly. " This is the work I like — the 
work I can do well— this great game of 
government ! Yet voi think I go willingly. 

wen, it ^e^^ieFiRfflff n we are - 



that's all ! But lofck at tne time! Your % 
appointment in Carlton House Terrace is at 
twelve-thirty. I must telephone for a taxi 
this instant." 

She hastened into the smaller office and 
picked up the receiver. " You'll stay the 
week, at least ? " he pleaded. 
" Yes, I'll stay the week." 

He picked up hat and stick. " Then 
good-bye till to-morrow morning. We meet 
about eleven, I .suppose ? You know I go 
down to Hampshire this afternoon ? " 

11 Yes. Everything you want for the 
meeting is there, I think, in that attache- 
case. The taxi will be at the door by the 
time you get downstairs." 

She set down the telephone, but remained 
in the back room, and after a minute's hesita- 
tion he went out. But, before he closed the 
door, her voice recalled him. 

She was standing in the archway between 
the two rooms, and she looked nervous. 
She pointed to his writing-table. " Have 
you put those letters which came this morning 
in there ? " 

" I have. Under lock and key," he replied, 

" Then don't. Don't leave them here. . 
An office is easily searched. There are so 
many hours when we are neither of us 
here " 

He turned crimson. 

" Searched ? What do you mean ? " 

" Nothing definite — only to be on the safe 
side. Remember — you took me out of the 
Secret Service branch of the Department : 
and I saw one of our own men, whose face I 
know, watching this office yesterday. It is 
of course possible that he was after some- 
body else — but he eyed me closely as I went 
out. It is my belief that you were followed 
when you went to see Sir Lazarus two days 
ago " 

He made a sound of inarticulate rage. 
" Are you suggesting that the Department 
views me — me — with suspicion ? " 

She replied flatly, " Yes. That is what I 
am suggesting." 

" Such an idea is as preposterous as it is 
offensive," was his furious retort, as he turned 
on his heel and left her. 

The offices were on the second floor of a 
small house in Ashill Place, Westminster. 
The larger room faced the street. Before 
each of its long windows was hung a plain 
width of mosquito muslin, which by no 
means obstructed one's view of the outer 
world, while making it impossible for anyone 
in the street to see within, unless there were 
a light in the room. 

Directly Cazalet had gone downstairs, 
Philippa stole as near the window as she 
could stand without being seen from outside. 

She looked up the road and . down, and 
scrutinized the . driver of the taxi which 
carried him away. Nobody was on the 
pavement very near the house ; but a man 
who had been leaning on the railings, farther 
on, straightened himself, began to move 
briskly in the same direction as the taxi, 
turned the corner at which it disappeared, 
and passed from sight. 

" When I am a woman of leisure," Miss 
Western told herself, " I am going to write 
a striking essay on male vanity. Nobody 
yet has ever plumbed its depths. But when 
secrets come to be disclosed, we shall find out 
that half the treachery in the world has been 
achieved by flattering a young man's vanity. 
We have been searching all the papers, they 
tell him, listening on every platform — to find 
a man who can speak as you can — a mind 
which is open to reason — a Great Intellect, 
in short, which ought to influence the world ! 
That is the way to snare them ! And exactly 
the way to snare Norman Cazalet. They 
are just fooling him to the top of his bent; 
and the Department has got wind of it, and 
means to catch him out. Don't I know 
Bull-Manning's methods, of old ? Those 
loathsome letters and that poisonous piece 
of propaganda are here, in this table drawer ; 
and if copies of them reach the hands of the 
Chief, he's finished. Nothing will be said. 
It will only just be arranged that he ceases 
to rise, that he gets no job, that no seat will 
be found for him next election. Oh, the 
pity of it ! " 

She sat down wearily to complete the 
morning's work, usually so delightful to her. 
Just as she was thinking of going out to 
lunch, a tap came at the door, and in reply 
to her summons a man entered with a straw 
bag of tools over his shoulder. 

" Beg pardon, miss — come about the 
electric light." 

Philippa remembered with a start that she 
had telephoned a couple of days before for a 
mechanic to put new cord upon her carrying 
lamp. She scanned the workman with eyes 
like searchlights. He had all the air of being 
what he professed to be. But she knew that 
Bull-Manning used the tapping of the tele- 
phone as one of his best methods. 

" Come in," said she, slowly; " I shall be 
glad to have that job done, for the days close 
in so quickly now, I have to use a light at 
four o'clock." 

" 1*11 have it ready long before that, miss." 
He swung down his basket, and set about 
his work in a businesslike way. His finger- 
nails were black and broken, he appeared to 
be no more and no less than the workman 
for whom she had sent. But her mind, 
keenly careful for Cazalet, was working 
swiftly, and she determined to make sure. 

"tffl^ntoii&ft slipped mto ber 



long coat, and took up her bag, containing 
all the letters for post. It would be quite 
easy for her to catch this man in the act if 
he had come to spy. Half her intelligence 
rejected the idea. But she could not forget 
the face of Paine, the Secret Service man 
whom she had yesterday seen so near. 

If her suspicions were just, then this affair 
into which Cazalet was drifting so easily — 
this sinister combination of Sir Lazarus 
Lopez with certain great continental and 
transatlantic firms — must be far more serious 
than she had any idea of. Cazalet was 
among the most able— perhaps the most 
able — of Bull-Manning's young men. That 
he had been approached by this gang was 
certainly known to the Chief. It was likely 
enough that his weak point — his personal 
vanity — was likewise known to the astute 

She went calmly out, telling the man, if he 
should have got through his job before her 
return, to shut the office door after him. 

Passing into the street, with a heart 
thumping uncomfortably, she immediately 
crossed, in such a way as to be clearly 
in sight of anyone who might be ob- 
serving her progress from the window. 
She walked on purposefully, turning out of 
sight at the corner, and coming into Victoria 
Street. At the first pillar-box she paused, 
and posted her large mail, searching her bag 
as if to be sure that she put in all she had ; 
but nevertheless retaining the three letters 
which Cazalet himself had written. If there 
was anything in her forebodings, she knew 
she would have been followed to the post ; 
but had no reason to suppose that she would 
be shadowed farther. However, she deter- 
mined to take adequate precaution, so 
walked into an A.B.C. shop opposite, and, 
having purchased some buns, passed out 
again at once by the side entrance. Thence, 
by turning all corners in the same direction, 
she worked herself back into Ashill Place, 
on the same side of the way as Number Nine, 
where the offices were. She kept close to the 
area railings, so that she could not be seen 
to approach except by someone standing 
right in the window. At the corner of the 
road she stopped a policeman. 

" I am just going back to mv office, at 
Number Nine," said she. " I left a man 
there, repairing my cbctric light. I felt a 
little doubtful of him, and as there are things 
in the office worth stealing, I am going back 
considerably sooner than he expects me. 
If I find him doing anything he ought not, 
I shall ring a bell twice. Will you come 
and stand at the entrance while I go up- 
stairs ? " 

Miss Western's dignified and straightfor- 
ward manner caused the policeman to give 
heed. At that time, the dislocation and 

unemployment which followed unavoidably 
upon the close of war were causing a good 
deal of burglary. 

" Sure hell let you get at the bell — sup- 
posing he's what you think he is ? " he asked. 

" He cant prevent me, because the bell's 
on the landing. I have a way in which I can 
see what he is doing without going into the 
room. I expect I am making a fuss about 
nothing ; but I shall feel more comfortable 
if you will do as I ask you." 

He accompanied her to the open street door, 
and she crept upstairs with noiseless tread. 

Some previous tenants of the premises had 
fitted a letter-box to the door of the front 
office — a door little used by Cazalet, whose 
visitors all entered through the back room, 
on which occasions a curtain was drawn to 
screen off his own domain. 

The letter-box was of brass wire netting, 
so that anyone who knelt down, pushed back 
the flap, and peeped through the slit could 
plainly see that part of the front room, near 
the fire-place, where Cazalet's table stood. 

Without a sound Philippa sank on her 
knees, gently pushed back the flap with a 
hat-pin, and peered through. She saw the 
electric light mechanic standing over the 
table, trying the drawers with a skeleton 
key. Though she had suspected it, the reality 
shook her horribly. Breathless she watched 
him succeed in unlocking the middle drawer — 
containing nothing but clean stationery in 
exquisite order. Then methodically he went 
down all the drawers on that side of the knee- 
hole, and after careful search in them all, 
began upon the other side. 

Just as he had placed the key in the drawer 
wherein the secret correspondence lay, he 
heard an electric bell ring sharply, twice ; 
and with extraordinary rapidity, sprang back 
to his place among his tools on the floor. 
There was a pause of a few seconds. Slowly 
he rose, listened, and was creeping back 
towards the writing-table — when a latch-key 
clicked in the door and Miss Western walked 

" Drop those keys." said she, shortly. 
" I have been watching you for the past five 

" Look 'ere — who are you a-talkin' to ? " 

i: Toa thief," she repUed, promptly, " and 
one who will be safe in the lock-up in a few 
minutes' time." 

" Oh, no, he won't, not by a long sight," 
cried the man, dodging her and darting out 
of the door. He fell right into the arms of 
the ascending constable, who was followed 
by the porter belonging to the offices. 

Philippa pounced upon the skeleton keys, 
and held them out in triumph to the police- 

" Game's up," said the- burglar, amicably. 

" AU ri ^lv!fe^#MlCHIGAN 




An hour later the excitement was over, 
and Philippe, left alone in the office, sat 
before the fire wondering what she ought to 
do next. Her mind seemed to be working 
like a rat in a cage, springing this way and 
that in search of a way out. The capture of 
the spy had confirmed her worst suspicions, 
She knew now that the correspondence 
passing between Cazalet and what she 

termed in her mind " the Lopez Gang J " must 
be considered by the authorities to be of the 
highest importance. 

What troubled her was that, in her anxiety 
to test the reasonableness of her suspicions, 
she had been guilty of a cardinal error. She 
saw now that she ought never to have spoken 
to the policeman. By so doing she had 





had something to conceal, and that she was 
in his confidence, She ought to have allowed 
the man to get away — her own return should 
have seemed the merest chance or accident. 
On no account should she have caused it to 
be supposed that she was on the look-out 
for what had occurred. 

Her false step involved her in new diffi- 
culties. If she did what she first intended — 

broke the lock of the drawer, and took all the 
compromising papers home with her, she 
would certainly have her pocket picked , 
or her bag stolen, or both, on her way home. 
And she could not communicate with 
Cazalet* He would be at home now — she 
might just catch him before he left his rooms 
to take thft r tr^in to Kenwood. Heath, But 

the devi 



mechanic had 



shown her that their wire was tapped. She 
dared not use the telephone. 

Should she burn the compromising docu- 
ments ? As things stood between herself 
and Cazalet, she hardly dared. She had so 
unwisely enraged him by her blunt speech 
and opinions that she felt he might use such 
a proceeding as a pretext for turning her 
off without a reference. Besides — to break 
the lock of a writing-table drawer is an 
extreme course, even if one has a screw-driver, 
which she had not, nor any other tool except 
a pair of scissors. 

If the thing was considered so urgent, she 
conjectured that the Secret Service men, 
when they found the letters were unposted, 
would probably try to enter the office during 
the course of the night — probably about 
eleven o'clock, before the porter locked the 
outer door. 

By staying herself in the office all night, 
she could prevent this, for each door had, 
upon the inside, a stout bolt, which' would 
take a long time to file through, even when 
the Yale latch had been dealt with. 

She argued that, owing to the capture and 
removal of the disguised detective, the house 
would have been unwatched during at least 
part of the afternoon ; and if she bolted 
herself in and made no sign, it would be 
supposed that 'she had gone home as usual. 
The offices had dark blinds, provided when 
the lighting orders were in force ; and thick 
curtains in addition, so that she could use a 
light without being seen from without. 

She had some buns, also the wherewithal 
to make tea, and fortunately the coal bunker 
was full. She could manage well enough 
until the following morning. 

A considerable portion of the day's work 
still remained to be done ; and when she had 
decided to remain all night where she was, 
she settled herself down to tackle it. 

She found herself oddly shaken. Her mind 
refused to concentrate. After struggling for 
a while, she reflected that she had many long 
hours before her, and so sat herself down by 
the fire, got out the knitting which she always 
brought with which to fill in an idle hour, 
and began to brood over her dreary pros- 
pects when she was no longer Cazalet's 

She had no near relatives, and those she 
did possess only tolerated her as long as she 
made no appeal for financial assistance. 
She lived in a gaunt, barrack-like hostel 
for working ladies. It might be weeks — 
months — before she got .another job. It was 
even possible that her having been secretary 
to Cazalet might prejudice her — stand in the 
way of her getting more of this work she 
loved. Loved ! Yes, and what of the man 
for whom she worked ? She was perilously 
near loving him too — -faults and all. If his 

career were spoiled, she felt as though the 
blow would fall upon her also. 

Her fine, capable hands slipped in and out 
with the long wooden needles, as she fashioned 
— is it necessary to state — a jumper ? She 
thought over the early war days, when she 
was a young, shy clerk in the Department — 
and of the day when Cazalet made his 
appearance in khaki, limping from a wound 
in the ankle — a limp he had since got rid of 

Th$ afternoon passed quietly away. The 
telephone rang once or twice, but, as she 
wished it to be supposed that she was not 
there, she did not answer it. After she had 
darkened the rooms and made tea, moving 
without noise in her stockinged feet, she felt 
better and was able to grapple with her work 
and complete it. 

She was twice disturbed, between seven 
and eight, by the ringing of the telephone 
bell. This was curious, as nobody was ever 
in the office about that time. She remained 
motionless until it ceased its insistent appeal. 
After the second time she heard the porter 
come upstairs, grumbling, and try the door. 
If he had brought his key up with him, she 
would be discovered, and she trembled a little. 
However, he had not. He tried the door, and 
called to know whether she was within. As 
he heard no sound, he evidently concluded 
that she was not ; and went downstairs. 

She felt certain that those watching were 
uncertain of her whereabouts, and had rung 
up the porter, asking him to ascertain that 
she was not there. 

Before ten o'clock she had finished her 
jumper — a charming creation in pale Hlac 
fleecy wool, with white borders. As she laid 
it down, she yawned, partly with weariness 
and partly with hunger. She had no inten- 
tion of undressing ; but she kept a brush and 
comb tn the office, and thought she might 
as well beguile the time by taking down her 
hair and giving it a good brushing, after the 
long anxious day. She therefore removed 
her blouse, and let her abundant bronze locks 
shower about her. The brushing' over, she 
found a bit of ribbon in her work-bag and 
tied them loosely on the nape of her neck. 
Then, with a sudden impulse, she took up 
the lilac jumper and slipped it on, instead 
of resuming her dark working blouse. The 
coquettish garment was low at the neck and 
left the spring of her milky throat visible. 

Catching sight of herself in the glass above 
the mantel, she was guilty of a blush and a 
smile. She looked about half the age she 
did when seated at her office table. 

Just as she was about to re-coil her stream- 
ing hair, her eye fell upon the writing-table 
containing the letters. Surely the drawer 
wherein they lay was a trifle — just the eighth 

of i^v^it? frwfrtiesff its socket ■ She 




darted at it. Yes ! It was open ! The 
detective, when she ran in upon him, must 
have just turned the key in it ! 

The letters were all there- — intact. She 
took them out slowly, and laid them down in 
a pile with the answers Cazalet had written 
and which she had not posted. 

She contemplated them. Dared she burn 
them ? If so, she could put on her hat and 
G° home and have supper, It would not 
then matter if she were waylaid — it would 
n ^t matter if the office were searched. 

She determined to do it* Swiftly* though 
without noise, she began to put all tilings 
meticulously tidy. She would burn the 
papers the last thing before leaving h She 
sat down in the arm-chair by the fire to put 
on her walking shoes ; and then she heard 
quiet footfalls ascending the staircase. 

Outside the door, they paused. Somebody 
knocked. She remained ' absolutely still. 
There was some slight delay, a faint jingling 
(" skeleton keys," thought she), and then a 
key of ^^i^iY^^ajr^fpG^erted into 



the latch. As she had bolted herself in, 
the door, of course, did not open. It was 
shaken — once — twice. She rose without 
a sound, crept to the pile of papers, 
took them in her hands. And at the 
moment she became conscious — horribly 
conscious — of her second great blunder that 
day ! For she heard the click of the flap 
of the letter-box, and knew that the intruder 
was peeping through, as she herself had 
done, and could see, not only the lighted 
room, but herself standing there on the 

" Jove ! " said a surprised voice. " Someone 
is there ! Who is it ? Let me in, can't you ? 
My key seems to have gone wrong ! " 

She gave a choked cry. It was Cazalet. 

She ran across the room, drew the bolt, 
opened the door. 

They stood confronted. 

He saw a young Diana with downcast 
eyes and a faintly flushed face framed in 
rippling bronze locks, which caught the light 
at their edges and framed her in an aureole 
of glory. 

He came in quickly, shut the door sharply 
behind him, while he said in a low, unusual 
tone : " You ! What in the world ? " 

She made a beseeching gesture with both 
hands. It was curious, their relations seemed 
to have changed completely. The competent, 
almost supercilious, secretary had become an 
appealing girl, struggling with an over- 
powering fit of shyness. " I thought you 
were in Hampshire," she faltered. 

" Naturally. But I did not go. That is, 
I started, but left the train at Woking and 
came back." He went up to the fire, stood 
still and stared into the flames. Then he 
lifted his face, with a deprecating smile. 
" Take your triumph," said he. " You were 
right this morning, and I was wrong. I eat 
humble-pie. Things have happened to-day. 
I have almost cut my own throat, but — 
thanks to you — not quite ! Not quite 1 " 

She gave a sob. " Oh, thank God ! 
Thank God ! " And turned away. 

He went to the open, gaping drawer of the 
writing table. " Where's all that Lazarus 
correspondence ? " he asked, sharply. 

" Here ! " She thrust into his hands the 
letters and his unposted replies. " I was 
just going to burn them." said she. 

He took them with a curious expression on 
his face. 

" I did not know you could get at my locked 

She smiled with faint irony. " I cannot. 
But the Chief's spy could — and did — only 
I just managed to prevent his laying hands 
on these." 

He broke in. f * Then they did search ? " 

" They did." 

" And you spoilt their garner^'' 

" Yes, but I went to work terribly 
clumsily " — she poured out her story, he 
standing the while, his eyes fixed upon her 
as if he had never seen her before. 

As she spoke, she was twisting her hair 
into a loose coil and fastening it with quick 
deft touches. " I ought never to have 
allowed them to suppose that I was on the 
alert — that we, had anything to fear," she 

" They knew, right enough, that I had 
something to fear," he replied, dryly. " But 
you speak as if you identified yourself with 
me — as though you had plunged into all 
this — what you call flirting with treason — 
in order to get me out ? " 

He was staring at her so disconcertingly 
that the colour rose hotly to her face. 
" Naturally," she faltered, " I had to save 
you if I could." Then, with a little laugh, 
" I said I would hold on till the end of the 

" So it was a question of your professional 
honour ? " ' 

She acquiesced. He did not seem par- 
ticularly gratified. 

" You have probably done more for me 
than I can ever pay," said he, in a low voice. 
" And all for — professional honour." 

" I must go home," said Miss Western, 
decidedly ; and went to fetch her hat and coat. 

" But before I go," she added, urgently, 
" let me see you — actually see you — burn 
the things ! " 

He shook his head. " I'm not going to 
burn them until the Chief has seen them," 
he told her. " I am going on to him now. 
I — I should like to take* you with me — you 
have behaved so admirably — and I think he 
would like to thank you himself." 

She stood, glowing like a rose as she gazed 
incredulously at him ; and raising his glance 
to her face he laughed, more freely, more 
naturally than she had ever heard him. 

" But what am I to do if you go giving 
notice again ? " he asked. " The thing might 
become a habit, you know, and I should never 
feel safe. Hadn't you better resign ? I'll 
find you another post ! Only — if you take 
on this one, you'll never be able to give 
notice ! You'll have to stick it for the rest 
of your life ! " 

The changes that swept over her face as 
he spoke were wonderful. There were pride, 
doubt, incredulity, joy — and — yes ! there was 
the response he hungered for ! 

" Oh, my dear," he whispered, as he caught 
her in his arms and held her for one moment 
crushed against his heart, " this is atrocious 
of me ! It seems so — so irreverent, somehow, 
to propose to you in such a place, at such an 
hour ! Forgive me and come with me to see 
Bull-Manning ! He'll trust me fast enough 
when he knows that vou have me in hand ! " 






THE way in which 
I came to choose 
the stage as a 
profession was p I 
think* rather exceptional. 
When I was a boy, about 
fourteen or fifteen, my 
mother thought that pt r- 
haps one day it would 
be a good thing for me to 
try my luck as an actor, 
and with this end in view 
she revived an old ac- 
quaintance with Sir H ef- 
fort— then Mr. — Tree* 
He very kindly sent us 
two seats for his theatre 
and said he would see 

I well remember the 
awe and wonder that the 
beautiful production of 
' Richard II,* - inspired in 
nie. But the supreme 
moment came when we 
were led to the presence 
of the great man himself. 
Tree had a charming 
teception-rooni ad j oin in g 
his dressing-room, and we 
awaited him there. A 
splendid lady was sitting 
ijri the club fender in 
front oi the fire fondling 
^ of the great Scotch 
deeniounds that appeared 
^ the production. She 


AGE 1 \ 

was charming and con-- 
descending, and told us 
that Mr, Tree would 
come in in a moment, 
We were too much of 
country cousins to recog- 
nize the famous Miss Con- 
stance Collier. 

Then, almost before I 
realized his entrance, 
Tree was looking at me 
with his piercing, steely, 
light-blue eyes. He was 
it) the magnificent kingly 
robes of Richard, nnd 
wore a fair beard ; but 
it was the strange quality 
of his eyes that struck 
me most. 

Contrary to his general 
rule, he did not try to 
dissuade me from going 
on the stage. 

Years after, when I 
had the pleasure and 
privilege to be acting 
with him at His Majesty's, 
I found out that he 
gave up a great deal of 
his time to seeing young 
aspirants with the sole 
object of telling the 
obviously unlikely ones 
what a foolish thing they 
would be doing in adopt- 
ing the stage as a pro- 

However, at our first 
meeting he greatly ex- 

UNIVERSlMFffltfeT ding to 


K ll"\ ,"■.*!. 



ask his manager if the small part of a boy in 
a forthcoming tour liad yet been filled. 

Soon the answer came that the part had 
been filled, so " there was* nothing for me 
at present/' 

This was really just as well, because my 
mother had really no idea of my going on the" 
stage at that age, but had asked Mr. Tree to 
see me with a view to his possible help in the 

There is a topical interest, by the way, in 
a story concerning Trees Richard IL— a 
story which naturally interests me on account 
of the circumstances of our first meeting. 
Tree was once playing Richard 
in Dublin, and was invited to 
lunch with a famous judge who 
was a great Shakespearean scholar. 
The talk turned on the play of the 
previous night, " Richard If-/' and 
a lady exclaimed : " Oh, Mr. Tree, 
why did you appear in such a 
dishevelled state and look so 

Ph*Ho r mtu <£ H'oJii-i. , \ t \ 

woebegone when you arrived on the coast 
of Wales ? " " Ah," replied Tree, " you sec, 
Richard had just come back from governing 

By the time I came to leave school I liaci 
not much idea of going on the stage, but it 
happened that I obtained an introduction to 
Miss Rosina 1 ilippi and asked her to take 
me into her rehearsal classes. She was qui to 
glad to take young men who would devote 
all their time to working with her lady 
students, and I became a " FUippian." 

Those were happy days, but it was such a 
long time before I could get a job actually 
on the stage that I regarded 
such of my fellow-students 
who might be " walking 
on PJ or playing a tiny part 
with tremendous envy and 
One in particular, Donald 
Calthrop, excited a verv 
bitter jealousy. He must 
have created a record at 
this time by appearing in 
four theatres every night f 
He plnved a small part 
in the first act of " The 
Beloved Vagabond " at 
His Majesty's. He then 
went into the second act 
of a play with Miss Marie 
Tempest at the Comedy. 
From that to a small part 
of a naval officer in the 
third act of " The Admir- 
able C rich ton " at the 
Duke of York's, and then 
he rushed over to the 
Adelphi to appear at the 
end of " Mrs. Wiggs of the 
Cabbage Patch/' I should 
think this effort must be 

Calthrop is as entertain- 
ing as he is clever, and 
one of his stories ha-, 
been a source of much 
amusement to me. It con- 
cerns a well-known singer, who one night went up to top 
J; m breathless siicnrr, tirating through it there came 
a raucous juvenile -voice from the gods : — 

11 My hye ! Wouldn't she be a stunner to *awk 
bananas ! 

My chance came through the kindness of Mr. 
Frederick Harrison, who allowed me to walk on in a 
play called J U-r Father" at the Havmarket. I had 
to appear as a distinguished guest at a tea-party, and, 
much to my chagrin, as a very elderly gentleman. My 
make-up was quite lamentably bad, and I am convinced 
that I never looked younger on the stage, 

I was fairly launched in the profession, however, 
and after a brief appearance at the St. James's as under- 
studv in Sir Artlkffig>mEr&' "Thunderbolt/' I spent 


t*Ki>tv. Hit Winn. 



the next year or so touring in " The 
Thief/' and met the lady who after 
wards became my wife. Those were 
perhaps the most affluent days I had 
ever enjoyed, I received the princely 
salary of fifty shillings a week, 
and, strange and incredible as it 
must appear nowadays, I did 
myself jolly well on it. I lived 
with another man, and we 
always seemed to have plenty 
to eat, and in addition 
played golf about three 
times a week* 

By the way, golf is 
the redemption of 
touring, My advice 
to every touring 
actor who doesn't 
play golf is 
straightway to 
take up the game. 

And that reminds 
me of a rather am us 
ing story that Gerald 
du Maurier tells against 
himself of a golfing ad 
venture he had when on 
tour some years ago with 
the late Sir Herbert Tree. 
They were at Liverpool, and 
one day Du Maurier had 
arranged to have a game on one 
of the famous Liverpool courses 
with Lewis Waller. At the last 
moment Waller had to cry off as 
he was feeling too seedy to play, so 
Du Maurier went alone to the links on 
*he chance of getting a game with 
some stranger. 

At that time his handicap was about five, 
and he rather fancied himself as an exponent 
of the Royal and Ancient game. Arrived at 
the club-house, he found no one who wanted 
a game, so he was just going to start on a 
solitary practice round when a somewhat 
unpromising individual dashed up and asked 
him if he would care for a match. The 
stranger looked as though his handicap 
ought to be about thirty, but Du Maurier, 
although somewhat bored at the prospect 
of a dull round, condescendingly said he 
didn't mind giving him a game. 

The stranger drove first, and hit the 
hall about two hundred and seventy 
yards straight down the middle of the 
course. Du Maurier, a little shaken by 
this display, propelled his ball a 
few yards in the direction of 
cover- point, and so the game 
went on, Du Maurier had struck 
an affray. After the first six or seven holes 
the stranger was about five under fours and 
Du Maurier was averaging a steady nine. 

V<»Ui*.-l7 + 


At last, in desperation, he 

exclaimed 1 **I really cant 

understand what's the 

matter with my game," to which the 

stranger ironically replied : I '11 tell 

you. You can't bally well play," 

He turned out to be Mr. Stanley 

Froy, one of the best-known 

amateurs of the day* which 

shows that one always ought 

to treat unknown opponents 

with gTeat respect, 

I rather think that in 

my youthful days I made 

better progress as a 

golfer than as an actor t 

for, after being on the 

stage some time, I 

still found myself 

in receipt of a 

salary of a guinea 

a week, As one of 

the students in Sir 

George Alexander's 

revival of "Old 

Heidelberg/ 3 I am 

afraid I made more 

in the dressing-room 

on the stage* And 

of the conceit was 

knocked out of mc when 1 

was engaged for a play called 

Elf it it ll'rttov.v. 



'* The Crucible " at the Comedy, my first 
real chance in LoridoiiLfrJnjplayed the part 
of a soni.^^sf^^^H^^lmg and 



made a small success. One of the critics 
hailed me as w Mr, Ivan Wares, a name which 
is unfamiliar to me/' It was unfamiliar to 
me, also I But ever since Mr. Henry Ainley, 
who played the leading part, has affection- 
ately called me " Earthenwares/ 1 

My next engagement was at the St. 
James's in a play called M The Ogre/' I was 
Teally going to play the part which was after- 
wards undertaken by Mr* A. E. Matthews, 
but after the first rehearsal I was deemed 
unfit and relegated to a much smaller part, . 
In after years Sir George Alexander would 
often recall with amusement the fact that 
Mr. Henry Arthur Jones, the author of the 
play, was most anxious not only to replace 
me, but Miss Gladys Cooper also. 

A recital of parts and plays is apt to prove 
monotonous except to oneself, but I have 
very distinct recollections, after appearing 
in " Diplomacy/' of joining Sir Herbert Tree 
and making a plunge into Shakespeare with 
singularly unsuccessful results. 

As Prince Hal in " Henry IV 4 / J clad in 
armour, I had to fight Matheson Lang. The 

odds were most uneven in any case, but to 
make matters worse the elbow- piece of mv 
suit got twisted so that I could not bend my 
sword-arm. As one of the papers remarked, 
" For several moments the succession seemed 
in doubt." 

Lang, who is one of the best raconteurs I 
have ever met, once found liimself in a some- 
what similar predicament- Playing the title- 
wCh in '* Romeo/' he hurt his elbow, and had 
to play with one arm in a sling. In the 
street fight he was supposed to flourish a 
sword in one hand and a dagger in the other 
his antagonist doing the same. On this 
occasion he could only use the sword, and 
when in the natural order of the play he 
defeated his opponent, the audience cheer ed 
him to the echo for his " derring-do IJ against 
overpowering odds. - * 

I like best of all, however, his story of hi* 
early days, when he was in tlie habit of going 
into the fields every morning with a fellow - 
actor and there declaiming passages from 
Shakespeare in order to- improve their 
elocution. One fine day, in the midst of the 
soliloquy from 1C Hamlet/' a little shiny head 
suddenly appeared above the hedge and a 
piping voice squeaked out : ' Be you 
lunies ? " Intending to wither him up, 
in thundering tones Lang replied, ** Friend, 
there arc more things in heaven and 
earth than are dreamt of in your 
philosophy." It fell quite flai r 
for he only chuckled and said, 
" Dearie me, IVe been in an 
«i .-vim li myself/ 1 

It was while I was in "Diplo- 
macy " that I first acted for 
the films, I was asked to 
undertake a part by the 
late Sir Hubert von 
Herkomer, who 
built a small 
t u d i o in 






wonderful house 



Original from 



that I should have to ride a horse, an exercise I had not 
indulged in since a rather bad accident when a small 
boy of about seven* 

The first " take " was to be an exterior at Cheddar, 
in Somerset, which was supposed to represent the wilds 
of the Australian bush, I dashed down there on a 
Sunday, and a few moments after arrival found myself 
once again in the saddle. Fortunately, the fiery steed 
of the play was represented by a quiet and somewhat 
jaded local hack, 1 found the camera and the rest 
of the party on the heights above the famous gorge, 
and I was asked to try to induce my steed to get into a 
position perilously near the edge of a precipice about two 
hundred feet deep. By this time the horse, with unerring 
animal instinct, had discovered how little acquainted I 
was with equestrian procedure, and knew perfectly well 
who w T as the master. However, at length ho was per- 
suaded to take up the required position, with his head 
facing away from the cliff. Everything being ready, I 

Photo. FvHlghnni if Runfrli 

at Rushey, Herts, Sir Hubert 
was quite the most remarkable 
personality I have ever met. He 
used to take a prominent part in 
his own film plays, and my first 
meeting with him was at a ruined 
windmill near Barnct one beau- 
tiful summer morning, when he 
was covered with false hair and 
flour in the character of the 
worthy miller. 

My experience of pictures had 
been of* the slightest, when, during 
the run of "Romance," I was 
asked to play a part in the film 
" Just a Girl/' I looked forward 
to the production with some trepi- 
dation, particularly as I was told 



<* B<t*M'ii r 



was told to ride slowly forward. Imagine 
mv horror when, in answer to my exhorta- 
tions, with the cliff only a few yards behind, 
the horse started steadily backwards 1 I 
dismounted with re- 
markable celerity, and 
registered an inward 
vow to give up the film 

Apart from my little, 
adventure at Cheddar, 
I have had no very 
alarming experiences 
during my picture 
career, and I prefer to 
think of the letters — 
h umoro us, d eligh t f u 1 , 
fluttering, and critical — 
I have received. 

The screen gives one 
a very wide publicity, 
which is, of course, an 
asset of considerable 
importance. I receive 
letters from all parts of 
the world, whereas be- 
fore I began to work for 
the pictures my name 
had not probably spread 
beyond Tooting, 

I am often asked if 
I like acting for the 
film better than the 
stage, and to compare 
the two methods. To 
my mind there is no 
comparison . The one 
is an art that requires 
long apprenticeship, in- 
finite tact, weary and 
hard-working experi- 
ence and effort, not to 
speak of natural talent 
and aptitude. The other 
is a knack that almost 
anyone with suitable 
appearance and a fair 
amount of intelligence 
can quickly acquire. 

Of course, stage experience is 
value in film acting, but the two 
are hugely different. Some people * 
that no experience is necessary for film act- 
ing, which reminds me of a story I was told 
by the manager of the Sam nelson Film 
Company, for whom I work. They had been 
bothered for several days bv an importunate 



of great 

gentleman of some sixty summers who wanted 
work* So at last, to escape further worry, 
they allowed him to walk on as one of a large 
crowd. He appeared to be gra titled at the 
moment, but a day or *» 
later the company re- 
ceived a letter from him 
saying that as he had 
already appeared twice 
on the screen— once as 
a bookkeeper and once 
as Father Christmas- 
he could not possibly 
agree to walk on again, 
and would only accept 
the same sort of part- 
as those played by 
Mr. Nares ! 

Experience is neces- 
sary for film work, but 
not to the same degree 
as for the stage. The 
art of the theatre is, 
to my mind, far more 
interesting than the art 
of the screen. This is 
perhaps one of the 
reasons I refused an 
offer from Mr, D. W, 
Griffiths — the King of 
the * Movies — to join 
him for five years and 
give up stage work 
altogether. The remu- 
neration promised was 
extraordinary, and I wa> 
assured that at the end 
of the period I should be 
able to buy a yacht, a 
castle in Scotland, and a 
row of houses in Park 
Lane ; but somehow I 
did not like the idea of 
abandoning my stag* 1 
career, particularly as I 
was flirting with the idea 
of management. 

The opportunity 
occurred when, after 
leaving the cast of " Romance/' I went totlie 
Palace. My terror at having to sing a song 
fcr the first time 1 shall not easily forget. 
However , it was while I was under Sir Alfred 
Butt at the Palace that we made the partner- 
ship that materialized at the Queen's Theatre 
m the production of " The Cinderella Man" 
and other plavs. 

by LiOOglC 

ginal from 



p~ -a AN HOTEL 

X last. The /O 




k EACE had 
come at 
last. The 
Great War, 
with all its hor- 
rors, — its spy 
plays, its war 
novels, its articles 
by our military 
expert, and its 
revues with pat- 
riotic first - act 
finales— - had 

passed away like a dark cloud. The 
time of Reconstruction had arrived, and 
all the old problems had sneaked back 
like unwanted dogs from the background 
into which war had thrust them. There 
they all were, clamouring for attention, 
just as they had been five years ago. 
England was asking herself : " How 
about Ireland ? How about Labour : 
And what on earth are we to do with 
Archie ? " 

To be exact, this last problem was the 
private perplexity of the Moffam family. It 
exercised them to the exclusion of all the 

Archie was a good chap. Everybody ad- 
mitted that, though his family were perhaps 
a little less enthusiastic than the outside 
public. He was All Right, a sportsman, one 
of the lads, and a good egg. But he did not 
seem able to make a living. Just before the 
war started he had passed affably through 
the Bankruptcy Court and had turned up at 
home, cheerfully confident that somebody 
would do something for him. As a matter 
of fact, somebody did. A perfect stranger. 
The late Kaiser, in fact. He kept Archie 
busier than he had ever been in his life for 
just over five years. But now that period 
of activity was over, and Archie was back 
home again, very hard and fit, with a ques- 
tioning look in the eye which he turned upon 
his family, which said plainer than if he had 
spoken the words : " Well, old beans, how 
do we go ? What about it, what ? " 

It was his brother Rupert, the head of the 
family, who finally answered the question. 

" I think, old man/' he said to Archie in 
the smoking-room at the Beefsteak Club, 
" youd better trot over to America and see 


if you can't 
wangle some- 
thing over there. 
Land of Oppor- 
tunity, and all 
that sort of thing, 
you know." 

Archie was 
agreeable. If he 
lacked most of 
the qualities that 
make for ma- 
terial success, he 
had at any rate one of them — the 
willingness to try anything once. 

" Just as you say," he replied. " Id 
be glad to take a stab at it. As a matter 
of fact, I've one or two pretty good pals 
in America. Met 'em in France. There 
was one chappie — he was a cook in the 
Rainbow Division — I got very thick 
with. He asked me to look him up 
if I ever came over. His pater's a 
4 I can get you several letters of intro- 
duction. There's a Mrs. van Tuyl, who was 
over here two or three vears ago. You'll 
like her." 

" Right-o ! And as regards what you 
might call the sordid side of the jolly old 

expedition " 

" Oh, I'll see that you have plenty of 
money." Rupert paused for a moment a 
little thoughtfully. " Enough money/' he 
went on. " But, of course, the idea is that 
you'll try to get a job, what ? " 
" Oh, absolutely ! " said Archie. 

Over in New York, Daniel Brewster, the 
proprietor of the Cosmopolis Hotel, went 
placidly about his business. No sympathetic 
angel whispered the details of this conversa- 
tion in his ear. " See," as the poet sars, 
" how, regardless of their doom, the little 
victims play." That was exactly Daniel 
Brewster's position. 

Mutual antipathy is a curious thing, odder 
even than love at first sight. Scores of 
people were extremely fond of Archie 
Moffam, and Daniel Brewster likewise had a 
large circle of friends. Each, therefore, one 
would say, had the elements of popularity in 
him, an< Mrth^^|^^lp^|fFft@?ft'J wh >" tlie - v 

Copyright, 1920, by G. P. Wodehousc. 



should not have got along capitally together, 
except that they did not. 

Of course, their first meeting was unfortu- 
nate. Its conditions were such that neither 
saw the other at his best and sunniest. It 
happened in the lobby of the Cosmopolis 
Hotel, on the morning after Archie's arrival 
in New York. Archie opened the proceed- 
ings by addressing the desk-clerk. There 
was gloom on Archie's brow, and the old 
fighting spirit of the Moffams gleamed in his 

" I say, laddie," said Archie, " I want to 
see the manager." 

" Is there anything I could do, sir ? " 

" Well, as a matter of fact, old man, I want 
to kick up a fearful row, and it seems hardly 
fair to lug you into it. The blighter whose 
head I want on a charger is the jolly old 
manager ! " 

At this point a massive, grey-haired man, 
v/ho had been standing close by, gazing on 
the lobby with a look of restrained severity, 
as if daring it to start anything, joined in the 

" I am the manager," he said. 

His eye was cold and hostile. Others, it 
seemed to say, might like Archie Moffam, but 
he did not. As a matter of fact, Daniel 
Brewster was bristling for combat: What 
he had overheard had shocked him to the 
core of his being. He owned the Cosmopolis 
Hotel. It was his own private, personal 
property, and the thing dearest to him in the 
world, after his daughter Lucille. He prided 
himself on the fact that his hotel was not like 
other hotels, which were run by impersonal 
companies and shareholders and boards of 
directors, and consequently lacked the pater- 
nal touch which made the Cosmopolis what 
it was. At other hotels things went wrong, 
and clients complained. At the Cosmopplis 
things never went wrong, because he was 
there on the spot to see that they didn't, and 
as a result clients never complained. Yet 
here was this long, thin, string-bean of a 
young man actually registering annoyance 
and dissatisfaction before his very eyes. His 
dislike of Archie Moffam began in that instant. 

" What is your complaint ? " he inquired, 

Archie attached himself to the top button 
of Mr. Brewster's coat, and was immediately 
dislodged by an irritable jerk of the other's 

" I took a room here last night," said 
Archie, quivering with self-pity and reaching 
absently for the button again. " A dashed 
expensive room. And there was a beastly 
tap outside somewhere that went 4 drip-drip- 
drip ' all night and kept me awake." 

Mr. Brewster was annoyed. He felt that • 
a chink had been found in his armour. Not 
even the most paternal hotel-proprietor can 

keep an eye on every tap in his establish- 
ment. ( 

" And I put my boots outside my door 
when I went to bed, and this morning they 
hadn't been touched. I give you my solemn 
word ! Not touched ! " 

" Naturally," said Mr. Brewster. " My 
employes are honest." 

" But I wanted them cleaned, dash it ! " 

" There is a shoe-shining parlpur in the 
basement. At the Cosmopolis shoes left 
outside bedroom doors are not cleaned." 

" Then I think the Cosmopolis is a bally 
rotten hotel ! " 

Mr. Brewster's compact frame quivered. 
The unforgivable insult had been offered. 
Question the legitimacy of Mr. Brewster's 
parentage, knock Mr. Brewster down and 
walk on his face with spiked shoes, and you 
did not irremediably close all avenues to a 
peaceful settlement. But make a remark 
like Archie's about his hotel, and war was 
definitely declared. He stiffened. 

" In that case," he said, " I must ask you 
to give up your room." 

" I'm going to give it up ! I wouldn't stay 
in the bally place another minute:" 

Mr. Brewster walked away, and Archie 
charged, snorting, round to the cashier's 
window to demand his bill. It had been his 
intention in any case, thoygh for dramatic 
purposes he concealed it from his adversary, 
to leave the hotel that morning. An ex- 
change of telegrams had resulted in an 
invitation from his brother Rupert's friend, 
Mrs. van Tuyl, to her house-party at Bar 
Harbour, and Archie proposed to go there at 
once. But oh, the difference betweeti leaving 
the Cosmopolis as he would have done and 
leaving it as he did I 

" Well," mused Archie, on his way to the 
station, " one thing's certain. I'll never 
set foot in that bally place again ! " 

But nothing in this world is certain. 

It was about two weeks later that a tele- 
gram arrived for Mr. Daniel Brewster. Not 
that this was unusual, for he was a man who 
received many telegrams. But this one 
was rather interesting. It ran : — 

Returning New York to-day with darling 

Archie. Lots of love from us both. — 


Mr. Brewster was puzzled, not to say 
startled. When you send your only daughter 
away to Bar Harbour for the summer minus 
any entanglements and she mentions in a 
telegram that she has acquired a darling 
Archie who sends you lots of love, you are 
naturally startled! It occurred to Mr. 
Brewster that by neglecting a careful study 
of his mail during the past week, as was his 
bad habit when busy, he had passed an 

^fiftM^ ^^ CUITent 



happenings* He recollected now that a 
letter had arrived from Lucille a day or two 
before, and he had put it away unopened 
till he should have leisure to read it. He 
was extremely busy just now with the 
preliminaries of building a new hotel, and 
Lucille was a dear girl, but her letters when 
on a vacation seldom contained anything 
that couldn't wait a few days for a reading. 
He now leaped into the elevator, sprinted 

Mr. Brewster sat down abruptly and 
breathed heavily through his nose. 

At about the same time, in a drawing- 
room on the express from Bar Harbour, 
Archie Moffam 
sat contemplat- 
ing his bride. 
His brain had 
been in some- 
thing of a whirl 


along the corridor leading to his suite, and 
made a dive for the letter. 

It was a long letter. Boiling it down, it 
announced that Lucille had met the most 
angelic man, an Englishman, and they were 
both so much in love with each other that 
they had simply been compelled to slip off 
and get married at once. Otherwise, they 
would have kept him posted about things 
earlier. And, anyway, darling Archie had 
wanted a quiet wedding, because he said a 
fellow looked such a chump getting married, 
And he must learn to love Archie, because 
Archie was all set to love him very much. 

these last days, but 
one thought had always 
emerged clearly from 
the welter— the thought 
that this was too good 
to be true. 

Mrs. Archie Moffam, 
»t£ Lucille Brewster, 
was small and slender. 
She had a little ani- 
mated face, set in a 
cloud of dark hair t 
She was so altogether 
perfect that Archie 
was compelled to take 
the marriage licence 
out of his inside 
pocket at intervals 
and study it furtively, 
to make himself realize 
that this miracle of good fortune had really 
happened to him. 

"Honestly, old bean— I mean, dear old 
thing— I mean darling," said Archie, " I 
can't believe it ! " 
" What ? " 

" What I mean is, I can't understand why 
you should have married me/' 

Lucille *s eyes opened. She squeezed his 

" Why, you're the most wonderful thing in 

the world, precious t Surely you know that ? " 

11 Absolutely escaped my notice. Are you 




" Of course I'm sure I You wonder-child ! 
Nobody could see you without loving you ! " 

Archie heaved an ecstatic sigh. Then a 
thought crossed his mind. It was a thought 
which frequently came to mar his bliss. 

" I say, I wonder if your father will think 
that ! " 

" Of course he will ! " 

" We've rather sprung this, as it were, on 
the old lad," said Archie, dubiously. "' What 
sort of a man is your father ? " 

" Father's a darling, too." 

" Riimmy thing he should own that 
hotel," said Archie. " I had a frightful row 
with a blighter of a manager there just 
before I left for Bar Harbour. Your father 
ought to sack that chap. He was a blot on 
the landscape I " 

It had been settled by Lucille during the 
journey that Archie should be broken gently 
to his father-in-law. That is to say, instead 
of bounding blithely into Mr. Brewster's 
presence hand in hand, the happy pair 
should separate for half an hour or so, 
Archie hanging around in the offing while 
Lucille saw her father and told him the 
whole story, or those chapters of it which 
she had omitted from her letter for want of 
space. Then, having impressed Mr. Brewster 
sufficiently with his luck in having acquired 
Archie for a son-in-law, she would lead him 
to where his bit of good fortune awaited him. 

The programme worked out admirably in 
its earlier stages. When the two emerged 
from Mr. Brewster's room to meet Archie, 
Mr. Brewster's general idea was that fortune 
had smiled upon him in an almost un- 
believable fashion *and had presented him 
with. a son-in-law who combined in almost 
equal parts the more admirable character- 
istics of Apollo, Sir Galahad, and Marcus 
Aurelius. True, he had gathered in the 
course of the conversation that dear Archie 
had no occupation and no private means : 
but Mr. Brewster felt that a great-souled 
man like Archie didn't need them. You 
can't have everything, and Archie, according 
to Lucille's account, was practically a 
hundred per cent, man in Soul, Looks, 
Manners, Amiability, and Breeding. These 
are the things that count. Mr. Brewster 
proceeded to the lobby in a glow of optimism 
«\nd geniality. 

Consequently, when he perceived Archie, 
he got a bit of a shock. 

" Hullo-ullo-ullo 1 " said Archie, advanc- 
ing happily. 

" Archie, darling, this is father," said 

" Good Lord ! " said Archie. 

There was one of those silences. Mr. 
Brewster looked at Archie. Archie gazed 
at Mr. Brewster. Lucille, perceiving without 

understanding why that the big intro- 
duction scene had stubbed its toe on some 
unlooked-for obstacle, waited anxiously for 
enlightenment. Meanwhile, Archie con- 
tinued to inspect Mr. Brewster, and Mr. 
Brewster continued to drink in Archie. 

After an awkward pause of about three 
and a quarter minutes, Mr. Brewster swal- 
lowed once or twice, ahd finally spoke. 

" Lu ! " 

" Yes, father ? " 

" Is this true ? " 

Lucille's grey eyes clouded over with 
perplexity and apprehension. 

" Tme ? " 

" Have you really inflicted this — this on me 
for a son-in-law ? " Mr. Brewster swallowed 
a few more times, Archie the while watching 
with a frozen fascination the rapid shimmy- 
ing of his new relative's Adam's-apple. " Go 
away ! I want to have a few words alone 
With this — this— wassy ourdamname ?" he 
demanded, in an overwrought manner, ad- 
dressing Archie for the first time. 

" I told you, father. It's Moom." 

" Moom ? " 

" It's spelt M-o-f-f-a-ra, but pronounced 

" To rhyme," said Archie, helpfully, 
" with Bluffinghame." 

" Lu," said Mr. Brewster, " run away ! 
I want to speak to — to — to " 

" You called me this before," said Archie. 

" You aren't angry, father, dear ? " said 

' Oh, no ! Oh, no ! I'm tickled to death ! " . 

When his daughter had withdrawn. Mr. 
Brewster drew a long breath. 

" Now, then ! " he said. 

" Bit embarrassing, all this, what ! " 
said Archie, chattily. " I mean to say, 
having met before in less happy circs and 
what not. Rum coincidence and so forth ! 
How would it be to bury the jolly old hatchet 
— start a new life — forgive and forget — 
learn to love each other — and all that sort 
of rot ? I'm game if you are. How do we 
go ? Is it a bet ? " 

Mr. Brewster remained entirely un- 
softened by this manly appeal to his better 

" What the devil do you mean by marrying 
my daughter ? " 

Archie reflected. 

" Well, it sort of happened, don't you 
know ! You know how these things are ! 
Young yourself once, and all that. I was 
most frightfully in love, and Lu seemed to 
think it wouldn't be a bad scheme, and one 
thing led to another, and — well, there you 
are, don't you know ! " 

" And I suppose you think you've done 
pretty well for yourself ? " 

" Oh, absolutely ! As far as I'm concerned. 





everything's topping ! IVe never felt so 
braced in my life ! " 

" Yes ! " said Mr. Brewster^ with bitterness. 
i( I suppose, from your view-point, every- 
thing is £ topping/ You haven't: a cent to 
your name, and you've managed to fool a 
rich man's (laughter into marrying you. [ 
suppose you looked me up in Bradstreet 
before committing yourself ? " 

This aspect of the matter had not struck 
Archie until this moment. 

** I say ! ** he observed, with dismay. " I 
never looked at it like that before ! I can 
see that, from your point of view, this must 
look like a bit of a wash-out ! tp 

" How do you propose to support Lucille, 
anyway ? JJ 

Archie ran a finger round the inside of his 
collar. He felt embarrassed. His father- 
in-law was opening up all kinds of new lines 
of thought. 

" Well, there, old bean/' he admitted, 
frankly, " you rather have me ! ,J He 
turned the matter over for a moment. Ji I 
had a sort of idea of, as it were, working, if 
you know what I mean/' 

" Working at what ? " 

" Now, there again you stump me some- 
what ! The general scheme was that I 
should kind of look around, you know, and 
nose about and buzz to and fro till something 

turned up. That was, broadly speak ing, 
the notion E " 

44 And how did you suppose my daughter 
was to live while you were doing all this ? '' 

" Well I think/' said Archie, " I think we 
rather expected you to rally round a bit for 
the nonce ! " 

" I see ! You expected to live on me ? " 

" Well, you put it a bit crudely, but — as 
far as I liad mapped anything out — that 
was what vou might call the general scheme 
of procedure. You don't think much of it, 
what ? Yes ? No ? " 

Mr P Brewster exploded* . 

M No ! I do not think much of it ! Good 
God ! You go out of my hotel — my hotel- 
calling it all the names you could think of— 
roasting it to beat the band— — " 

" Trifle hasty ! " murmured Archie, apolo- 
getically. " Spoke without thinking. Dashed 
tap had gone dvip-dvip-drip all night — kept 
mc awake -hadn't had breakfast — bygones 
be bygones ! " 

" Don't interrupt ! I say, you go out of 
my hotel, knocking as none has ever 
knocked it since it was built, and you sneak 
straight off and marry my daughter without 
my knowledge /qjnal from 



the old bean, somehow. You know how one 
forgets things ! " 

" And now you come back and calmly 
expect me to fling my arms round you and 
kiss you, and support you for the rest of 
your life i " 

" Only while I'm nosing about and buzzing 
to and fro." 

" Well, I suppose I've got to support 
you. There seems no way out of it. I'll 
tell you exactly what I propose to do. You 
think my hotel is a pretty poor hotel, eh ? 
Well, you'll have plenty of opportunity of 
judging, because you're coming to live here. 
I'll let you have a suite and I'll let you have 
your meals, but outside of that — nothing 
doing ! Nothing doing ! Do you understand 
what I mean ? " 

" Absolutely ! You mean ' Napoo ' ! " 

" You can sign checks for a reasonable 
amount in my restaurant, and the hotel 
will look after your laundry. But not a 
cent do you get out of me. And, if you want 
your shoes shined, you can pay for it your- 
self in the basement. If you leave them 
outside your door, I'll instruct the floor- 
waiter to throw them down the air-shaft. 
Do you understand ? Good ! Now, is there 
anything more you want to ask ? " 

Archie smiled a propitiatory smile. 

r Well, as a matter of fact, I was going 
to ask if you would stagger along and have 
a bite with us in the grill-room ? " 

" I will not ! " 

"I'll sign the check," said Archie, in- 
gratiatingly. " You don't think much of 
it ? Oh, right-o ! " 

There is a perverseness in human nature 
which never permits us to know when we 
are well off. A canvass of the opinions of 
the inhabitants of New York would cer- 
tainly have resulted in a verdict that Archie 
Moffam, the perpetual free guest of the 
Cosmopolis, was on velvet. The CosmopoJis 
is the best-run hotel in the city, and famous 
alike for the comfort of its rooms and the 
excellence of its cuisine. To be set down at 
the Cosmopolis with a free suite and a free 
hand in the matter of signing checks for 
meals would have been most New Yorkers' 
idea of heaven. Yet Archie's generous soul 
chafed him. For a time he was perfectly 
happy ; then, gradually, " shades of the 
prison-house," so to speak, " began to close 
upon the growing boy." In other words, 
he got dashed fed-up with the place. 

After a month of breakfasting, lunching, 
and dining at the Cosmopolis, his chief 
problem was the difficulty of making up 
his mind whether he loathed the grill-room 
or the main dining-room the more intensely. 

It was at the end of this first month that 
he became really intimate with Sal vat ore. 

Salvatore was the dark, sinister-looking 
waiter who attended, among other tabffes, 
to the one at the tar end of the grill-room, 
at which Archie usually sat. For several 
weeks Archie's conversations with the other 
dealt exclusively with the bill of fare and 
its contents ; but, as time went by and he 
began to long for human companionship, 
he found himself becoming more personal. 
Besides, there was something about the 
waiter's demeanour that appealed to Archie's 
always sympathetic heart. Salvatore was 
a man with a grievance. You could tell 
that by looking at him ; and Archie had 
been looking at him every day for a month. 
Whether he was merely homesick and 
brooding on the lost delights of his sunny 
native land, or whether his trouble was more 
definite, could only be ascertained by inquiry. 
So Archie inquired. Even before the war 
and its democratizing influences, Archie 
had always lacked that reserve which 
characterizes most Bntons ; and since the 
war he had looked on nearly everybody he 
met as a brother. 

" There's something on your mind, old 
thing," said Archie. 

" Sare ? " 

" I say there would appear to be some- 
thing on your mind besides your hair. 
What seems to be the trouble ? " 

The waiter shrugged his shoulders, as 
if indicating an unwillingness, to inflict his 
troubles upon one of the tipping classes. 

" Come on ! " said Archie, encouragingly. 
"All pals here! Barge along/old bean, 
and let's have it ! " 

Salvatore, thus urged, proceeded, in a 
hurried undertone — with one eye on the 
head waiter — to lay bare his soul. What 
he said was not very coherent, but Archie 
could make out enough of it i:a gather that 
it was a sad story of excessive hours. 

" Always," said Salvatore. ■ -*' Always — 
always— I am in this dam hotel ! " 

"I know what you mean, laddie!" 
said Archie, feelingly. He tapped the waiter 
earnestly on the chest with his oyster - 
fork. " My dear old chap," he said, " there's 
only one thing to be done. You must 
strike ! It's the only scheme. Everybody's 
doing it now ! " 

Salvatore shrugged his shoulders again. 
It appeared that he had already sounded 
the other waiters guardedly on the matter 
of a strike, but the spineless peons seemed 
to be unwilling to jeopardize their jobs 
by making any demonstration. And you 
couldn't strike by yourself. 

The reasonableness of this was plain to 
Archie. He mused a while. The waiter's 
hard case touched him. 

'" I'll tell you what," he said, at last. 
" You come aiong with me when you're 




oft duty, and we'll beard the old boy in 
his den. I'll introduce you p and you get 
that extract from Italian opera off your 
chest which you've just been singing to 
me P It can't fail. He'll probably hand 
yon his bank-roll." 

The result was that Mr. Brewster, busy 
with accounts in his private room, was 
infuriated that evening by the entry of 
his son-in-law, heading a procession con- 
sisting of himself and a dark, furtive person 
who looked like something connected with 
the executive staff of the Black Hand. 

u Not interrupting you, what ? " began 
Archie, amiably, " I say this sportsman 
here has a few well-chosen words to say to 
you on the subject of dirty work at the 
cro^- roads, so to speak. It seems the 
lad is oppressed and ground down and what 
not. He's a waiter in the grill-room, so 
I suppose you're probably old pals* If 
not, let me do the honours. Mr. Brewster, 
our courteous and popular boss. Salvatore 
ii wouldn't swear that's his name, but it 

sounded like it) p the Italian Whirlwind* 
Seconds out ! Time ! Go to it, laddie ! 
Spill the bad news ! JJ 

And before Mr. Brewster could get his 
breath Salvatore had begun to spill, It 
was not such a long harangue as he had 
given Archie in the grill-room, for in the 
middle of it Mr t Brewster, finding speech, 
ejected him from the room, But it sufficed 
to bring the hotels proprietor to boiling- 
point. Though not a linguist, he could 
follow the discourse closely enough to realize 
that the waiter was dissatisfied with condi- 
tions in his hotel* And we have already 
seen Mr. Brewster's attitude towards people 
who criticized the Cosmo polis. 

" You're fired ! " said Mr. Brewster, 

Salvatore receded, muttering what sounded 
like a passage from Dante. 

H And I wish to heaven/ 1 added Mr, 
Brewster, eyeing his son-in-law malignantly, 
** I could firejwi / " 

That night, meeting his father-in-law 




in the elevator, Archie found occasion to 
touch upon Salvatore again. 

" I say, that chappie with the grievance, 
whom you slung out this evening. I don't 
know if it interests you, but he appears 
to be slightly narked. Peeved to a degree, 
if you know what I mean." 

Mr. Brewster signified that he was not 
interested. Archie chuckled amusedly. 

" He said he meant to pay you out. 
He didn't specify how. I say," said Archie, 
cheerfully, " perhaps he means to waylay 
you in a dark alley somewhere and insert 
about six inches of a stiletto in your lower 
ribs. Rather a lark, what ! I understand 
these Italian chappies are always doing 
that sort of thing. Oh, well, you've had a 
long and happy life ! " 

Archie's optimism, however, was not 
rewarded. Day followed day, and Mr. 
Brewster preserved an unpunctured skin ; 
and his manner towards his son-in-law was 
becoming more and more a manner that 
would have caused gossip on the plantation 
if Simon Legree had exhibited it in his 
relations with Uncle Tom. Mr. Brewster's 
normal distaste for his daughter's husband 
was increased about this time by the fact 
that he was worried over business matters ; 
-and, when your man of affairs is worried 
over business, he is apt to become irritable 
even with his nearest and dearest. It is 
not to be wondered at, therefore, that the 
spectacle of his son-in-law mooning about 
the hotel should have afflicted Mr. Brewster 
to some extent. At any rate, whether it 
is to be wondered at or not, it did. 

The details of the business which was 
worrying Mr. Brewster were at first hidden 
from Archie, and he made no effort to probe 
into them. It was enough for his simple, 
unspoiled nature that his father-in-law should 
be worried. That was happiness enough for 

It was Lucille who apprised him of the 
nature of the trouble. 

" Archie, darling," said Lucille, one after- 
noon as they sat at lunch, " it's such a 
shame about father ! " 

There was a troubled look in Lucille's 
grey eyes. Life was not running as it 
should these days. 

" I know ! " said Archie. " I was hoping 
that Italian chappie would have done some- 
thing definite by this time." 

Lucille regarded him with surprise. 

" Why, has father been talking to you ? " 

" He hasn't been very chatty of late. 
What do you mean ? " 

" Well, you spoke as if you knew all 
about it. I mean, all about Salvatore. 
The waiter, you know, whom father dis- 

" I remember the chappie. What's he 
been doing ? " 

" Well, you know father wants to build 
a new hotel." 

" I heard something about it. But he 
doesn't confide in me much, you know." 

" Well, he does want to build an hotel, 
and he thought he'd got the site, and every- 
thing, and could start building right away, 
when this hitch occurred." 

" What hitch, queen of my soul ? " 

The waiter was hovering over their table 
with dishes. Lucille waited till he had gone. 

" Well," she said, " this man Salva tore's 
mother owns a Jittle newspaper and tobacco 
shop right in the middle of the site where 
father, poor darling, wants to build ; and 
there's no way of getting him out without 
buying the shop, and he won't sell. At 
least, he's made his mother promise that 
she won't sell." 

" A boy's best friend is his mother," 
said Archie, approvingly. 

" So father's in despair." 

" I knew old friend Salvatore would 
come out strong in the end if you only 
gave him time. Great pal of mine. Man 
of ripe intellect." 

Lucille's small face lightened. She gazed 
at Archie with proud affection. She had 
known all along that he was the one to 
solve this difficulty. 

" You're wonderful, darling ! Is he really 
a friend of yours ? " 

" Absolutely ! Quite the old college 
chum ! " 

" Then it's all right. If you went to him 
and got him to sell the shop, father would 
be happy." 

" I know. That is the objection, of 

" Think how grateful father would be to 
you ! It would make all the difference." 

Archie turned this over in his mind. 

" I see what you mean. How much did 
your father offer the Johnnie for his shop ? " 

" I don't know. There is father. Call 
him over and ask him." 

Archie glanced over to where Mr. Brewster 
had sunk moodily into a chair at a neighbour- 
ing table. 

" You call him," he said. " You know 
him better." 

" Let's go over to him." 

They crossed the room. Lucille sat down 
opposite her father. Archie draped himself 
over a chair in the background. 

" Father, dear," said Lucille. " Archie 
has got an idea ! " 

" Archie ? " said Mr. Brewster, in- 

" This is me," said Archie, indicating him- 
self with a spoon. " The tall, distinguished- 
looking biidgmi 




94 What new fool- thing is he up to now ? IJ 
11 It's a splendid idea, father. He wants 

to help you over your new hotel," 

* Wants to run it for me, I suppose ? " 
' By Jove ! JJ said Archie, reflectively. 

' That's not a bad scheme I I never thought 

of running an hotel. 1 shouldn't mind taking 

a stab at it," 

' He has thought of a way of getting rid 

of Salvatore and his shop/' 

For the first time Mr. Brewster's 

interest in the can versa lion eeemed 

to stir. He looked sharply- at his 


11 Don't call me old companion 1 J * 
" All wrong, laddie ! Nothing like it, dear 
heart I No good at all, friend of my youth ! 
Take it from your Uncle Archibald ! I'm a 
student of human nature, and I know a 
thing or two ! " 

'* That's not much/* growled Mr. Brewster, 
who was finding his son-in-law's superior 
manner a littls trying. 

** Now, don't interrupt, 
father! " said L u c i 1 1 e, 
severely. " Can't you see 
that Archie is going to be 
tremendously clever in a 
minute ? " 

" He's got to 
show me I " 

" He has, has he ? M he said, 

Archie balanced a roll on a 
fork and inserted a plate under- 
neath. The rol! hounded away 
into a comer. 

" Sorry I " said Archie, " My 
fault , absolutely ! I owe you a 
roll Til sign a check for it. 
Oh, about this sportsman Sal- 
vatore, Well, it's like this, you 
know. He and I are great pals. 
I've known him for years and 
years, At least, it seems like 
years and years. Lu was sug- 
gesting that I seek him out in his kiir and 
ensnare him with my diplomatic manner and 
superior brain power and what not." 

" It was your idea, precious/' said Lucille, 

Mr. Brewster was silent. Much as it went 
against the grain to have to admit it, there 
seemed to be something in this. 

What do you propose to do ? " 

+ Become a \ oily old ambassador. How 
much did you offer the chappie ? " 

1 Three thousand dollars. Twice as much 
as the place is worth. He's holding out on 
me for revenge." 

" Ah, but how did you offer it to him, 
what ? I mean to say, I bet you got vomt 
lawyer to write him a letter full of whereases, 
perad ventures, and parties of the first part, 
and so forth. No good, old companion I " 


" What you ought to do," said Archie, 4I is 
to let me go and see him, taking the stuff 
in crackling hills. 1*11 roll them about on 
the table in front of him. That'll fetch 
him ! JJ He prodded Mr, Brewster en- 
couragingly with a roU^i froft'i^ te ^ Y ou wna * 

to do - G oiwtt#t)™fl^tf the best 



and crispest, and I'll undertake to buy that 
shop. It can't fail, laddie I " 

" Don't call me laddie ! " Mr. Brewster 
pondered. " Very well," he said at last. 
" I didn't know you had so much sense," he 
added, grudgingly. 

" Oh, positively ! " said Archie. " Beneath 
a rugged exterior I hide a brain like a buzz- 
saw. Sense ? I exude it, laddie ; I drip 
with it ! " 

There were moments during the ensuing 
days when Mr. Brewster permitted himself 
to hope ; but more frequent were the 
moments when he told himself that a pro- 
nounced chump like his son-in-law could 
not fail somehow to make a mess of the 
negotiations. His relief, therefore, when 
Archie curveted into his private room and 
announced that he had succeeded was great. 

" You really managed to make that wop 
sell out ? " 

Archie brushed some papers off the desk 
with a careless gesture, and seated himself 
on the vacant spot. 

" Absolutely ! I spoke to him as one old 
friend to another, sprayed the bills all over 
the place ; and he sang a few bars from 
* Rigoletto/ and signed on the dotted line." 

" You're not such a fool as you look," 
owned Mr. Brewster. 

Archie scratched a match on the desk and 
lit a cigarette. 

" It's a jolly little shop," he said. " I 
took quite a fancy to it. Full of news- 
papers, don't you know, and cheap novels, 
and some weird-looking sort of chocolates, 
and cigars with the most fearfully attractive 
labels. I think I'll make a success of it. 
It's bang in the middle of a dashed good 
neighbourhood. One of these days some- 
body will be building a big hotel round 
about there, and that'll help trade a lot. 
I look forward to ending my days on the 
other side of the counter with a full set of 
white whiskers and a skull-cap, beloved by 
everybody. Everybody'li say, ' Oh, you 
must patronize that quaint, delightful old 
blighter ! He's quite a character.' " 

Mr. Brewster's air of grim satisfaction had 
given way to a look of discomfort, almost 
of alarm. He presumed his son-in-law was 
merely indulging in badinage ; but even so, 
his words were not soothing. 

"Well, I'm much obliged," he said. "That 
infernal shop was holding up ever ything. Now 
I can start building right away." 

Archie raised his eyebrows. 

" But, my dear old top, I'm sorry to spoil 
your day-dreams and stop you chasing rain- 
bows, and all that, but aren't you forgetting 
that the shop belongs to me ? I don't at 
all know that I want to sell, either I " 

" I gave you the money to buy that shop!" 

" And dashed generous of you it was, too ! " 
admitted Archie, unreservedly. " It was the 
first money you ever gave me, and I sha'l 
always tell interviewers that it was you who 
founded my fortunes. Some day, when I'm the 
Newspaper-and-Tobacco-Shop King, I'll tell 
the world all about it in my autobiography." 

Mr. Brewster rose dangerously from his seat. 

" Do you think you can hold me up, you— 
you worm ? " 

" Well," said Archie, " the way I look at 
it is this. Ever since we met, you've been 
after me to become one of the world's workers, 
and earn a living for myself, and what not ; 
and now I see a way to repay you for your 
confidence and encouragement. You'll look 
me up sometimes at the good old shop, wont 
you ? " He slid off the table and moved 
towards the door. " There won't be any 
formalities where you are concerned. You 
can sign checks for any reasonable amount 
any time you want a cigar or a stick of 
chocolate. Well, toodle-00 ! " 

" Stop ! " 

" Now what ? " 

" How much do you want for that damned 
shop ? " 

" I don't want money. I want a job. If you 
are going to take my life-work away from me, 
you ought to give me something else to do." 
■ " What job ? " 

" You suggested it yourself the other day. 
I want to manage your new hotel." 

" Don't be a fool ! What do you know 
about managing an hotel ? " 

," Nothing. It will be your pleasing task 
to teach me the business while the shanty i> 
being run up." 

There was a pause, while Mr. Brewster 
chewed three inches off a pen-holder. 

" Very well," he said at last. 

"Topping ! " said Archie. " I knew you'd 
see it. •* I'll study your methods, what! 
Adding some of my own, of course. You 
know, I've thought of one improvement on 
the Cosrhopolis already." 

" Improvement on the Cosmopolis ! " cried 
Mr. Brewster, gashed in his finest feelings. 

" Yes. There's one point where the old 
Cosmop slips up badly, and I'm going to see 
that it's corrected at my little shack. Cus- 
tomers will be entreated to leave their boot> 
outside their doors at night, and they'll 
find them cleaned in the morning. Well, 
pip, pip ! I must be popping. Time is 
money, you know, with us business men.'' 

" Where are you going ? " asked Mr. 
Brewster, suspiciously. 

Archie breathed a sigh of ecstatic anti- 

" I'm going over to the Ritz to get a bite 
to eat ! " he said. 








. TIMES . 




YOUNG Colonel Lawrence 
was like an actor playing 
a part during the war of 
liberation in the land of 
the Arabian Nights. The Bed- 
ouins never saw him excepting 
when he was at "top-notch." 
He cultivated the character of 
a man of mystery. He usually 
dressed in beautiful robes of 
pure white. In order that his 
garb should always look spot- 
lessly clean he carried three or 
four special changes of raiment 
on an extra camel. He also 
made it a point to shave every 
day, although frequently they 
were dry shaves due to the 
scarcity of water. 

It was always a mystery to me how Law- 
rence managed to keep as immaculate as 
he did in the desert, because baths are 
indeed a luxury in a land where there is 
not even enough water to drink. The only 
European things he ever had with him on 
the trek were a safety-razor, tooth-brush, 
and Colt revolver . 

Colonel Lawrence never entered into 

Copyright, 1920, Lj 

competition with the Bedouins 
unless he was certain first that 
he could excel them. He made 
it a rule never to speak unless 
he had something special to 
say and unless he knew what 
lie was talking about. 

I once asked I^awrence why 
he always carried an old-style 
revolver instead of a new 
modet Hts reason was the 
best any man could offer, and 
in answering he. told me the 
following story : — 

" Some years ago when I 
was wandering about Asia 
Minor, near Marash, a fever 
came upon me, I was making 
my way towards the village 
of BLrgik at the time and 
chanced to meet a Turko- 
man." Here he stopped to 
explain that Turkomans are 
a semi -nomadic branch of the 
Ottoman race with crooked 
eyes, and faces which look as 
though modelled in butter 
and then left out in the sun ! 

*' I was not quite sure of 
my bearings," he continued, 
if and so I asked him to 
direct me. ' Right across 
those low hills on the left, 1 
he replied t Just as I turned 
and started on my way he 
sprang up on my back arid 
we had a bit of a dog-fight 
on the ground for a few minutes, I ha<J 
already walked over a thousand miles during 
the previous months and %vas nearly done up. 
He was stronger than I, and eventually I was 
at the bottom and he was sitting on my 
Stomach. Jerking this old Colt out of my 
robes he pressed it to my temple and pulled 
the trigger, The safatv-catch was on, and 

,^S^ primitive ■ 




fellow and knowing nothing about modern 
revolver mechanism t he threw it away in 
disgust and contented himself with pounding 
on my head with a rock until I was no longer 
interested in my surroundings. After taking 
everything I had he made off. A little 
later I recovered consciousness, went on 
to the village of Birgik, and described niy 
experiences to the inhabitants. We even- 
tually caught the Turkoman and made him 
disgorge. But ever since that occasion I 
have had a profound respect for this old 
revolver and am never without it.*' 

In all Lawrence's experiences with the 
Bedouins he never encountered a single 
case of treachery or double-dealing among 
the members of a tribe with which he once 
succeeded in establishing friendly relations. 
However, on one occasion when he had 
gone through the Turkish lines alone on a 
tour of inspection of the enemy fortifications, 
he called on the chieftain of the Beni 
Sakhi, a tribe which was co-operating with 
the Turks and Germans. This man broke 
the unwritten law of the desert and attempted 
to double-cross Lawrence while the latter 
was his guest. The sheikh sent a Conner 
to the Turks, who were only ten miles dis- 
tant, and meanwhile attempted to force 
Lawrence to remain in his tent. His 
intention was to turn his noted guest over 
to the Germans and Turks and claim the 
hundred thousand pounds reward which 
had been offered for his capture. 

However, Lawrence! suspected 

treachery, and seizing \ an oppor 

tune moment he 
of the sheikh's tent 
on his racing camel. 

slipped out 
and escaped 

To illustrate how inflexible is the unwritten 
law of Arabia, although that sheikh was 
a leader of a tribe at war with the Bedouins 
assisting Lawrence, his own relatives gave 
him a cup of poisoned coffee because he 
had been treacherous to a guest* The 
Beni Sakhi people felt that they had been 
disgraced by him. This idea of giving 
poison in coffee originated with the Turks, 
but has spread to the peoples on the edge 
of the desert. 

While the Turk is a barbarian, the 
Bedouin-Arab is a gentleman, and takes 
no delight in torturing a victim. Although 
raiding is one of life's greatest joys to him, 
he is content with booty and abhors the 
sight of blood, Nomad-Arabs will rob, 
but rarely harm you. 

The peoples of the desert are particularly 
proud of wearing clothing which they have 
forcibly taken from somebody else. Law- 
rence told me about an Englishman and his 
wife who went down from Damascus intu 
the Lejah country north of Jebel Druz 
to explore. The people of the Lejah objected 
to having strangers prowling through their 
country, so they robbed the couple of 
everything they had. The explorer and 
his wife returned to Damascus garbed in 
a copy of the London Times. The lady 
wore the financial section ! 

Since the days of Mohammed, thirteen 
hundred years ago, fewer Europeans have 
visited Holy and Forbidden Arabia than 
have penetrated the jungles of Darkest 
Africa* The fanatical Mohammedans who 
inhabit the section of the desert which 
includes the holy cities of Mecca and Medini 
attempt to prevent all Christians and othci 



„ ™*x OF h» "j^KSlftflPMICHIGAN 



unbelievers from 
profaning its sacred 
soil with their pre- 
sence. It is even 
forbidden in the 
Koran that stran- 
gers should enter 
Mecca and Medina. 

That Lawrence 
was able to gain 
not only the con- 
fidence of the 
direct descendants 
of Mohammed; 
who have governed 
these forbidden 
cities of Arabia 
since the days of 
the Prophet/ but 
also the confidence 
of the wild tribes 
of the desert , will 
^tand out in his- 
tory as one of the 
most remarkable 
and spectacular achievements of all time. 

The most amazing feature of Lawrence's 
accomplishment is the fact that he openly 
admitted that he was a Christian and never 
attempted to disguise himself as a native, 
except when he put a veil over his face and 
slipped through the Turkish lines dressed 
as a gipsy woman. 

Our great-grandchildren will be as familiar 
fcith the name of Colonel T, E. Lawrence, 
the young Oxford archaeologist who led 
the desert armiis in the land of the Arabian 
Nights, as with the names of Ulysses, King 
Arthur, Sir Francis Drake, and other 
romantic figures of history and literature, 
To future generations he will be known as 
the English lad, just out of college, who 
made two kings — a ruler of Holy Arabia 
kfld a Prince of Syria, Even the imagina- 
tive geniuses who wrote those matchless 
gems of unbridled fancy, the tales of the 
'/Thousand and One Nights/' never dared 
''-vent a story so fantastic. There is little 
doubt that had it not been for young Law- 
rence, Hussein Ibn Ali, the aged Shereef 
°f Mecca, would not be known as the King 
°f the Hejaz to-day, nor would his son, 
the Emir Feisal. be the recognized Prince 
°f Damascus and Arab-Syria, 

Although great credit is due both to 
King Hussein and Prince Feisal for having 
the Arabian nationalist movement 






Arabian Army. It was he who worked out 
the strategy of the campaign. It was he who 
outwitted the German and Turkish generals. 
It was Lawrence again who led the Arabs 
into battle. After Damascus was taken, 
it was he who entered the ancient Arabian 
capital of the Caliphs, and established a 
new Government for Prince Feisal, days 
before the latter arrived on the scene. In 
fact he was the moving spirit of the Arabian 

The amazing part of it all is that, though 
dealing with a people of an entirely different 
and older civilization than his own, he 
actually lived as an Arab, worked out his 
problems in true Arab manner, and outdid 
them from camel- riding to speaking their 
own language. The achievements of this 
modest young archaeologist are unique. 
History offers no parallel Not even Sir 
Ri chard Burton could have accomplished 
what Lawrence did. Burton knew the 
customs and the language just as well, but 
the great Arabian traveller and scholar 
was a cynic, and no cynic could have led 
King Hussein s wild horde of Bedouins. 

What was the secret of Lawrence's 
success ? 

Oki Auda Abu Tayi gave me the answer. 
Auda is the acme of everything Arabic 
and the most famous old warrior of the 
desert. u By the Beard of the Prophet." 
he roared, 4t this fair-haired son of Allah 
can do everything that we do even better 
than we do it ourselves. He has the face 
and hair of a Circassian beauty, the physique 
of an oryx (Arabian ibex), the courage of 
Abu Bekr, and the wisdom of Omar." 

When Lawrence Jeit the coast of Arabia 


aT1 u fur having started the Arab revolution, 
neither of them had the uncanny skill and 
Easterly diplomatic ability to carry out 
tneir original plan. 

*vas Lawrence who wiped out the 
^Mury-old blood-feuds between the desert 
nbes - It was Lawrence who built up the 
v«l lfe,-4fc 



Arabian desert for his endur- 
ance* On this particular trek 
it took Lawrence and his com- 
panion just three days to make 
that twelve -day journey of 
three hundred miles — a re^ 
cord for camel-riding which 
probably will stand for many 
( years. They nearly killed their 




and plunged into the desert he shed his 
European clothing and habit of mind and 
became a Bedouin. If you can get an Arab 
to laugh you can do almost anything; you 
like with him, Although the nomads of 
Arabia have a keon sense of humour, their 
language has become so solemn and cere- 
monious that if one simply translates 
ordinary conversational English direct into 
Arabic it delights the desert peoples. Our 
everyday language is far more sparkling and 
to the point than theirs. To his ability to 
express his own subtle sense of humour in 
pure Arabic, Lawrence probably owes his 

On one occasion when he was at Azrak, 
a village far out among the shifting sand- 
dunes, south-east of Damascus, a courier 
came with the news that a great caravan 
of Syrian merchants was on its way down 
to the Arab base port of Akaba, three 
hundred miles tn the south. Realizing 
that there were sure to be many Turkish 
spies among the merchants in the caravan, 
Lawrence decided to try to reach Akaba 
ahead of it. The Arabs regard it as a 
twelve-da vs' journey from Azrak to Akaba 
by camel, and the Syrian merchants already 
had a start of nine days. 

Only one Redo among Lawrence's followers, 
a half -breed Haurani, could stand the latter '» 
pace when he extended himself to the limit. 
The Haurani was famous in the North 

camels and rode twenty- two hours each day, 
or a total of sixty-six out of seventy-two 

Eighty miles south of Azrak, Lawrence 
and the Haurani were racing across the 
ridges when suddenly a dozen mounted 
Arabs appeared over the edge of a sand- 
dune and rode down the slope at a gallop 
to cut thern off. As they approached they 
shouted out that they were Jazi-Howettats 
and friends. Thirty yards distant the 
strangers dismounted as a sign of encourage- 
ment far Lawrence and the Haurani to 
do the same, but the latter were on their 
guard and recognized the Arabs as Bent 
Sakhi, blood -enemies of all the Bedouins 
co-operating with King Hussein, They had 
heard that gold was passing up and down 
this route and were out for a bit of the loot. 

A great trade route between Syria and 
Arabia had been opened up during the 
war, and merchants from Syria and Turkey 
passed back and forth through the linca 
to buy Manchester cotton from the British 
at Akaba. Laurence himself had started 
this. He made two clever uses of cotton: 
first he used it as a means of spreading 
propaganda, and secondly for hiring all 
the gold out of Syria and Turkey. The 
merchants of the Ottoman Empire would 
have sold their souls for cotton, That 
commodity had become so scarce that the 
Turkish military authorities allowed all 




merchants who paid them enough -l bak- 
sheesh " to pass backwards and forwards 
through the Lines. In Akaba, f^awrence's 
Arabs, camouflaged as shopkeepers, preached 
the Arab nationalist doctrines to the Syrian 
merchants, and fiUed them up to the eyes 
with tales of Allied victories which the 
latter carried horrie with their cotton and 
spread far and wide through the Ottoman 
Empire, Lawrence also induced the mer- 
chants to smuggle Zeiss field-glasses down 
from Con stan tinople, and he used them for 
equipping his army. 

As th& Beni Sakhi advanced with their 
rifles cocked, Lawrence laughed merrily. 
The brigands had meant to shoot him; but 
this unexpected merriment mystified them, 

tl Come near, I want to whisper in your 
ear/' Lawrence remarked to their leader. 
Then, bending down from his .saddle, he 
said : 'Do you know what your name 
is ? " The sheikh looked speechless and rather 
amazed, as Lawrence continued : "I think 
your name must be * Terrace ' \ " 

In Arabia the most terrible of all insults 
U to call a Bedouin " Terrace." It is the 
vilest epithet ever used by one man towards 
another, and usually is followed by blood- 
shed. We have no word in the English 
language which compares with it The 
Peni Sakhi was dumbfounded and visibly 

yards or so. Then they seemed to suddenly 
recover their senses and started blazing 
away with their rifles. But Lawrence and 
his companion ga 1 loped over the nearest 
ridge and escaped. 

The members of Lawrence's personal 
bodyguard were chosen for their courage 
and endurance. No Bedo was accepted 
who could not ride both day and night if 
necessary. It was regarded as quite the 
swell thing to belong to the select band of 
picked men who dogged the heels of the 
blue-eyed , fair-haired young she reef. Law- 
rence never chose more than two Bedos 
from one tribe. His theory was that 
tribal jealousy would thus prevent them 
from plotting against him. He also paid 
them more than the other Arab troops, 
and they spent every sovereign on fine 
clot has. There were eighty Bedouins in 
the bodyguard, and they looked like an 
Oriental flower-garden as they bounced 
along on their camels behind Lawrence. 
Every one of them was a famous fighting 
man, and they were always ready to dash 
off with Lawrence on a raid at a moment's 
notice. He frequently sent them through 
the Turkish lines as spies. There was at 
least one representative of every corner 
of the great Arabian desert in this polyglot 



nervous. What he could not understand 
was why any ordinary traveller would 
dare say such a thing to him in the open 
desert, with all the odds against him. 

Before the sheikh recovered from the 
shock, Lawrence added, pleasantly, " May 
Allah give you peace ! " and, calling to his 
Haurani, swung off across the sind. The 
robbers, puzzled and bewildered, stood 
motionless until the two had ridden a hundred 

Second in command to Lawrence was a 
pock-marked, undersized, fiery little Bedouin 
named Abdullah. He knew no fear and 
would take on ten times his number with 
keen delight. He was a little dried-up 
stick of a man. but one of the most chivalrous 
and daring descendants of Ishmael who 
ever Tode a camel. It was his boast that 
he had served under everv prince in the 
desert, a^ i^ffr.^ faffif ™ed and 



beaten by every one of them. That was 
his gree test joy ! 

, Abdullah .was a valuable lieutenant to 
Lawrence, for many reasons. His speciality 
was handling men and camels. Lawrence 
usually urged on his followers by fantastic 
rewards, such as beautiful clothes, gold, 
jewels, and silver-mounted rifles. If they 
failed, Abdullah rewarded them with a 
sound beating. 

Lawrence found it no easy matter to 
punish a Bedo. You can hardly imprison 
a man on his camel. One favourite form 
of punishment in Arabia is to chuck a 
short dagger at a man's head. The result 
usually is merely a heavy, though very 
painful, scalp wound, which heals in a week 
or two. Bedouins who break the unwritten 
law of the desert frequently punish them- 
selves in this way, and then, with blood 
streaming down their faces, appear before 
the person wronged and crave pardon. 

One rather curious custom in Arabia 
is that of permitting a murderer to pay 
damages to the relatives, if the latter are 
willing to accept gold or camels. But if 
the murderer is caught he is usually killed. 
If he avoids capture, nevertheless, sooner or 
later, he must, pay for his deed, because 
it is next to impossible for a desert dweller 
to escape all penalty unless he gives up his 
nomad life and flees to a far-off corner of 
Arabia and becomes a townsman. Since 
Bedouins regard all human beings who 
live cramped up in villages and cities as 
scum of the earth, very few of them ever 
lower themselves that far. They regard death 
as preferable to such degradation. 

A peculia r feature of the unwritten law 
of the desert is that no distinction is drawn 
between accidental and intentional man- 
slaughter. If one Bedo kills another by 
accident, now, as in the days of Abraham, 
it is customary for him to flee and send 
back explanations by courier. 

During a raid on the Turkish railway 
a member of Lawrence's bodyguard climbed 
into the railway station through a window. 
He evidently attempted to open the door 
from the inside. But meanwhile some of 
his companions were attempting to batter 
it down from without, and one fired his 
rifle through a panel. When the door at 
last gave way the chap who had entered 
through the window was found dead. The 
Arab who had fired the shot bolted through 
the crowd, jumped on his horse, and galloped 

"It really is a shame we must kill him ! " 
said the members of the Colonel's body- 
guard, referring to the fugitive. " It was 
an accident, and the dead man was a worth- 
less scamp, anyhow." So they all chipped 
in together and made up a fund of one 

hundred and twenty pounds. This they 
sent to the relatives of the dead man, and 
they accepted it with evident pleasure. 

A man's worth in the desert is rated at 
from a hundred to two hundred and fifty 
pounds in gold. Good camels are worth much 
more than that. Shereefs, of course, have 
a greater blood value than ordinary people. 
Thus, if you kill* a descendant of the Prophet 
you have to pay four times as much as for 
an ordinary man. It is practically impossible 
to avoid paying less than a thousand pounds 
for killing a shereef, and one cannot arrange 
this little question of price before committing 
the deed. 

Feuds arise in Arabia far worse than the 
Hatfield-McCoy feud in Kentucky. Different 
tribes take pot-shots at one another every 
time they meet. These sanguinary quarrels 
sometimes drag on for centuries. Lawrence 
believed that the best way to unify the 
desert people and wipe out their terrible 
blood-feuds would be to create an Arabian 
aristocracy. Nothing of that kind had 
ever existed in Arabia before, because the 
nomads of the Near East are the freest 
peoples on earth. The Bedouin has always 
refused to recognize any authority higher 
than himself. But all Arabs have for cen- 
turies had a certain extra respect for direct 
descendants of the founder of their religion. 
Taking advantage of this, Lawrence suc- 
ceeded in persuading them to recognize 
their shereefs as chosen people. But I am 
sure he would never have accomplished this 
feat if he had not had the unlimited financial 
support of the British Government. Through 
Lawrence's hands a stream of over a million 
dollars in gold poured into Arabia each 
month. This enabled the young archaeolo- 
gist to pay King Hussein's Arabian army. 
But gold alone would not have sufficed, 
for the Turks and Germans tried it and 
failed. Though the Arab's love for gold 
is great, his hatred for the Turk is far 

Since the beginning of time the sheikhs, 
or patriarchs, of one tribe have had abso- 
lutely no influence with members of other 
tribes. Shereefs, on the other hand, who 
can hardly be said to belong to any tribe, 
were recognized as leaders by the towns- 
people of Mecca, Medina, and the few other 
large places. In order to carry out tliis 
plan for widening the influence of the shereefs, 
and making Hussein the recognized ruler 
of the Hejaz, Lawrence had first to win 
the confidence of all the rival tribes. We 
have seen how he did this by excelling them 
in the things in which they themselves 
excel. Then, quietly, in such a manner 
as to make them think the ideas were their 
own creation,, Jie succeeded in convincing 

them that they should forget all past tribal 

1 1 hi 1 • ,' re-: 1 tv n r .wi i- u in a hi r 







differences and unite 
under the leadership 
of Hussein and Ijs 
sons and the other 
shereef => in order to 
dnve out the hated 
Turk and restore 
the Caliphate and 
former splendour 
of their ancient 

The word " she- 
reef (or M shrf/' as 
spelled in Arabic, a 
language without 
vowels) means 

honour/' A she- 
reef is supposed to 
lie a man who ex- 
ercises honour. In 
the holy cities of 
Mecca and Medina, 
Shereef H ussein and 
Shexeei Feisal had 
long stood high in 

the esteem of the town Arabs, who have 
U-en accustomed to refer to them as 

Sidi" or "Lord." But the care-free 
Bedouins, unlike their city cousins, merely 
addressed them as % Hussein " and M Feisal/" 
without bothering about titles. Lawrence 
with his magic power of persuasion, backed 
up by an endless stream of British gold, 
convinced even the Bedouins that they 
*hould adopt the term " Sidi " in referring 
iu shereefs. So successful was he that 
within a few months, although they knew 
he was a hated Christian, they honoured Law^ 
r«ice with this title simply because of their 
profound admiration for him + 

The fact that the ■ shereef s had always 
been treated with special deference by 
townsmen- and villagers had caused them to 
grow up with a sense of their own superior 
responsibility and honour. That, of course, 
was of great assistance to Lawrence in 
creating a new aristocracy. In fact, if 
the)- had not had that sense of personal 
responsibility lie never would have succeeded 
in unifying the tribes, because he would 
have had no men capable of acting as 
subordinates under the King and Prince 

When two Arabs meet they greet each 
other by slapping hands instead of gripping, 
as we do. Then each makes a movement 
a^ though touching his feet, followed by 
an upward wave touching the heart, mouth, 
and head with the right hand. At times 
they kiss both cheeks in European fashion. 
A town Arab shows respect for a shereef 
by kissing his hand, but the independent 
tsedouin has too much respect for himself 
to indulge in such servile osculation. 



It is considered a great disgrace in Arabia 
to kiss anyone's feet. Neither the towns-' 
man nor the nomad ever kisses the feet' 
of another person except when '- begging 
for his life. On one occasion some fifty 
Turkish officers grovelled in the sand 'at 
I-awrence's feet, A few moments before 
he had touched off a "tulip " under their 
train and his bodyguard had charged down 
on the coaches yelling like mad- The Turks 
were afraid the Arabs were going to kill 

If an Arab has you down and is about to 
kill you, Lawrence once told me a magic pass* 
w T ord which you can alwavs sav to save vour 
life. It is the word " dakhilak." During 
my stay in Arabia I was treated with sweeping 
courtesy and lavish hospitality and never 
had occasion to use it. But if an Arab has 
you at his mercy, and you say ** dakhiiak ** 
he must let you go, because it means — 
" I am in your tent and at your coffee- 
hearth as your guest/" or one might trans- 
late it as, I have taken refuge with you.'* 
If you are in a man's tent as his guest 
in Arabia, he is in honour bound to see ihat 
no harm befalls you. Syrians use the wo?d 
interchangeably with another word meaning 
" please/' To the Bedouin this latter use 
of it is a ghastly and inexcusable breach 
of etiquette* . - ** 

" I have never had an Arab say the word 
to me," remarked the Colonel, " mereliy:- 
because I have never had one of them at 
my mercy whom I contemplated killing." 

In describing the principal difference 
between his Bedouin followers and the 
Arab villager, Lawrence **xnlained that the 

Bedo is 



2 5 8 


the same to-day as three thousand years 
ago in the time of Abraham. The townsmen, 
however, are a mixture of all the peoples 
of the East. The nomad is a poet, a sports - 
man, and a lover of personal liberty, The 
villager is indolent, dirty, untrustworthy, 
and absolutely mercenary, 

" The pure Arab of the desert belongs 
to a race which built some of the first 
civilization/* he said. 4i They had a philo- 
sophy and a literature when the natives 
of the British Isles were savages. They 
are one of the few peoples of the world 
whom the Romans failed to conquer. They 
are forced to lead a nomadic existence 
because they must follow their herds from 
place to place in search of grass and 
water* They are wanderers on the face 
of the earth, creatures who follow the 
camels across the shifting sand-dunes, who 
sleep under the skies, and who live as their 
forefathers lived thousands of years before 
Christ. Morally they are more civilized 
than we are. Materially they are savages. 
They believe that a man cannot be free 
unless he lives in the desert and can put 
all his belongings in his saddle-bags. " 

Lawrence is one of the few, if not the only 
European who has been entirely successful 
in transforming himself into a Bedouin. 
During the war about thirty British officers 

attempted to penetrate into the desert 
and live the life of an Arab nomad. Nearly 
all came back but Lawrence. Perhaps 
the principal difficulty with the others 
was that they tried to be English " up- 
country/' We can hardly blame them ! 
But the man who takes a can of bully -beef 
with him when he goes into Arabia will 
never pass as a native. 

Lawrence's irregular Arab army had no 
commissariat department. Whenever they 
started off on an expedition each man 
carried a small bag of flour and a little 
coffee. Every meal was the same, and the 
whole army lived on doughy, unleavened 
bread made in the ashes of a fire. Although 
his Arabs could gulp down a pound or two 
at a time, Lawrence had to carry a chunk 
of the stuff in the folds of his gown and 
nibble at it as he rode along in order to 
keep from wrecking his in-ternal mechanism. 
While t re k king across the desert this remark- 
able young Englishman would sit m his 
camel -saddle reading Aristophanes in the 
original while gnawing away at a hunk of 
tough Arab bread. 

Whenever Lawrence went off to Cairn 
or to Allenby's headquarters in Palestine, 
on his return he usually found that Emir 
FeLsal had been forced to put all the members 
of his bodyguard in prison. No one else 



STOHK. AS WELL AS ™»ffl|^tf fl0Fto|CH|GAN 



could handle " Lawrence's devils/' as they 
were called. On one occasion he returned 
from Egypt anxious to start immediately 
on a secret expedition into the u blue." 
A* usual, he found his men in the lock-up, 
and among them two of his most daring 
followers, Ferraj and Daoud. When he 
sent for Sheikh Yussef, the civil governor 
of Akaba, and asked what had happened, 
Yussef laughed and then he 
cursed and then he laughed 

Lawrence received a telephone message 
from the A.P.JL stating that he had arrested 
the fiery little Arab because lie looked as 
though he might be prowling around waiting 
for a chance to take a pot-shot at the 
"C.-in-C." The A,P3L said that Abdullah 
had explained through an interpreter that 
he was one of " Sidi >p Lawrence's *' sons/* 
and had demanded an apology for having 
been arrested. He declined to accept any 
ordinary apology, and insisted that it must 

be made in a special 
- ■ ceremonial way* "In 

the meantime/' added 






* I had a beautiful white camel," said 
he, '* and one night she strayed away The 
next morning, hearing a great commotion 
in the street, I rushed out and found every 
one in the Bazaar district laughing uproar- 
iously at a camel whose legs had been dyed 
blue with indigo and whose head had been 
coloured red with henna. I recognized 
it as mine. Your varlets, Ferraj and Daoud, 
wet* found at the beach washing red and 
blue dye from their arms, Of course, they 
denied all knowledge of the affair/' 

It took nearly three months for the dye 
to wear off, before Yussef could use this 
camel again. 

Occasionally Lawrence would take some 
°f the members of his bodyguard to Cairo 
0r to Allen by h s headquarters in Palestine. 
They invariably paraded around bristling 
with pistols and daggers, causing much 
excitement and uneasiness wherever they 
vent. On one occasion Abdullah visited 
General Headquarters near Ramleh with 
lus master. While Lawrence was in con- 
ference with Allenby, Abdullah " went off 
OB his own " to have a look round. Six 
hours passed and he failed to return. Then 

the A. P.M., with a wail, " he sits here eating 
up all our oranges ! We wish vou would call 
him off ! " 

Eventually Lawrence had to make special 
arrangements with General All en by so that 
his gorgeous I v-robed brigands could carry 
their weapons in Cairo and Jerusalem without 
fear of arrest or bloodshed. They were, 
indeed, a comic -opera crew, and nearly ah 
of them used a kohl (antimony) stick unde; 
their eyes to darken them and rouge on 
their lips + I also noticed that they were 
very fond of scent. They poured whole 
bottles of it on their clothing, and were 
as fragrant as the ladies of a harem. In 
Cairo they spent most of their time flirting 
with the veiled Egyptian beauties and buying 
richly -brocaded robes. 

It was a familiar saying among the mem- 
bers of Lawrence's bodyguard that they 
might as well spend their gold on clothes 
and having a good time, because they were 
likely to be killed any day. Their blond 
English leader was constantly sending them 
on dangerous missions, and there were far 
more casualties ;amcmg; th^m than among 
the other «prffft^R?frpF)p6fl^I^ «■*- 



Every man in King Hussein's forces 
was anxious to belong to Lawrence's body- 
guard. This was mainly because he took 
them along on all his raids, bridge-blowing 
parties, and train-wrecking expeditions. There 
is nothing a Bedouin loves so much as he 
loves thrills. Nearly every Bedo in the 
desert would go half-way across Arabia 
for a chance to bag a bit of loot. 

On the trek Lawrence's men rode behind 
him in a long irregular column. There 
was always a poet at either end of the line 
who made up verses as they swung across 
the sands. First the poet at the rear end 
of the column would make up a verse and 
each man in the line would invent one to 
rhyme with it. Usually the subjects were 
topical, such as each other's love-affairs, 
or " Sidi " Feisal or " Sidi " Lawrence. 
They also had some fine war-songs or chants, 
which when sung would cause the camels 
to put their heads down and go at a faster 
pace. One of the songs which they sang 
about Lawrence was entitled : "I wish he 
would pay us another pound a month!'\ 
Or perhaps they would make up one on 
the spur of the moment, the theme of 
which would be: "I wonder if Allah has 
seen the headcloth Sidi Lawrence is wearing ? 
It is no good, he should give it to me." 
As a matter of fact, every " kaffieh " and 
" agal " (headcloth) that Lawrence wore 
was more gorgeous than anything they had 
ever seen before, and his playful followers, 
like children, wanted them. 

The adventurous "bloods" who always 
accompanied the fair-haired young Anglo- 
Bedouin Shereef had a rough game which 
they took keen delight in playing. When- 
ever one Bedo fell asleep in the saddle, 
another would charge his camel straight 
at him on the gallop and knock him off. 

Intimate friendships sprang up among 
Lawrence's personal followers, Ferraj and 
Daoud, the chaps who dyed Sheikh Yussef's 
camel, were inseparable pals, and when 
Daoud died of fever at Akaba during the 
latter part of the campaign, Ferraj felt 
so miserable and lonely that he committed 
suicide by dashing headlong into the Turkish 
lines on his camel during an engagement. 

Lawrence was accompanied, as a rule, 
by two or three body-servants. They were 
slaves loaned by King Hussein. No Chris- 
tian is permitted to have any slaves of his 
own in Holy Arabia. 

I paid particular attention to the topics 
of conversation when Lawrence was in 
company with a group of Arabs. Although 
they frequently asked him questions regard- 
ing his own country, he invariably led the 
cdnversation back to local Arab affairs. He 
scrupulously avoided drawing comparisons 
between European and Arabian ways, and 

he seemed to have an insatiable desire to 
learn as much information about the peoples 
and parts of the country he was in as 

Lawrence also made an exhaustive study 
of camels. Nothing is more certain to give 
an outsider influence among the wild tribes 
of Arabia than a thorough knowledge of the 
animal which plays so prominent a part in 
their lives. The camel really is an animal 
of mystery. Even the Bedouins who breed 
them are unable to fathom all their good 
and bad qualities. And Colonel Lawrence 
certainly is the only European who has 
succeeded in developing what we might call 
11 the camel instinct." 

The finest camels in the world come from 
the oases of Central Arabia. There are just 
six different kinds. All Arabian camels are 
dromedaries and have but one hump. In 
fact, I have never met a Bedouin who has ever 
even heard of the two-humped camel which 
is found only in Asia, north-west of Persia. 
The two-humped camel is slow and of little 
use except as a beast of burden. The word 
" dromedary," by the way, is unknown to 
the Arab, and is a Greek term, meaning " a 
, camel that runs." 

Even after seven years of lif e in the 
Arabian desert and extensive study, Lawrence 
confessed to me that he could not always 
judged a camel correctly. Abdullah, com- 
manding officer of his bodyguard, and old 
Auda Abu Tayi, the Bedouin Robin Hood, 
are among the foremost authorities on | 

" In judging a camel," Lawrence explained 
to me one day, when he was buying a new- 
mount, " among the things to be considered 
are length of belly, the way the animal lifts 
its foot, the way it carries its head, depth 
of neck, length of the front leg, length of 
front and back shoulders, girth, and shape j 
of hump. A small waist and a long leg are 
particularly desirable. But the hump is of 
paramount importance. It should consist 
of hard muscle and not fat. A camel actually 
seems to live on its hump. If worked too 
hard - the hump gradually disappears and 
the animal dies. If a camel has no hump, 
or a low one or a thin one or a fat one, it is 
a sure sign that it will break down under 
any ordinary strain. ' 

"A camel's age is judged by its teeth in 
much the same way as a horse's age is 
established. They usually live up to about 
twenty-five years of age, but are in their 
prime between four and fourteen. Good 
Arabian camels can trot up to twenty-two J 
miles an hour on good ground. They can j 
canter up to twenty-eight miles an hour, 
and gallop up to thirty-two. Ordinary 
speed . jpfjji^ long journey of many days 
across th^ desert is only about four and a 

TWvtfi:JTr uFMOlwfJ 



half miles per hour. If van want to make 
a trip of many hundreds of miles, never let 
your camel go at a faster gait than a walk. 
For a single day's journey, a jog -trot at 
seven miles an hour is the safest speed. 

J A good camel walks in absolute silence. 
It is a particularly desirable trait and of 
great assistance to the Bedouins when they 
are making night raids. They teach their 
camels to not even w hi fie, and a long caravan 

When Lawrence asked him how much he 
wanted for one, the shepherd replied five 
pounds gold, double the prevailing rate. 
Lawrence handed over the sovereigns with- 
out a murmur, although the Bedo expected 
to be bargained with, and would have sold 
for much less. But Lawrence and his 
associates made it a rule never to bargain 
with a native. In that way they led the 
Arabs to believe they possessed untold 
wealth, which of course increased their 

When an Arab sings it sounds like a 
tumble of discords, Lawrence occasionally 
carried a phonograph, which amused and 
entertained the Arabs immensely. One of 





may pass within twenty yards of your tent 
without disturbing your sleep/' 

Although the Bedouins usually own 
sheep as well as camels, they rarely kill 
them except when thev have guests, 
Lawrence informed me on another occa- 
sion, An Arab shepherd passed our tent 
one day near Petra, the rose-red city of 
Edom + The sheep had thick curly coats 
as beautiful as Persian fleece, and lit tit 1 
bonis that curved back over their dainty 

his Scotch sergeants at Akaba brought an 
assortment of musical instruments out from 
Cairo and organized a band. He taught 
them " Annie Laurie/' " Auld Lang Syne," 
and " Tipperary/' and wrote an Arab 
National Anthem for them. That band 
practised every day* Every instrument was 
out of tune r and everv man plaved in a 
different minor key. Lawrence and his 
associates usually disappeared on a fishing 
trip among the coral reefs whenever the Arab 
band got under way. 


Next month Ml Lowell Thomas tells us of Colonel Lawrence's experiences with 
the wildest Bedouin tribe in Arabia, known as the Howeitat. This account of the 
adventures of the young Oxford archaeologist with Auda Abu Tayi and his wild 

tribesmen is more fascinating than the fables of "T- 



. 262 

tiptoed in- 
to the room 
and closed 
the door behind him, 
releasing the knob 
carefully to avoid a 
dick. I was on the 
point of giving him 
a cheery M Halloa, 
Murph ! ' T when I 
noticed his stock- 
inged feet, 

H Sit down/* 1 said, 
un consciously drop- 
ping my voice to a 
whisper . 

He came forward 
quietly and placed 
his hat on my desk. 
On top of it he put 
his night stick, and hung his belt over 
the back of a chair, 

"Shoes? 13 I queried, as though 
expecting them to follow. 

He shook his head* 

"Left them outside/* he explained, 
indicating the halh " My feet hurt." 

There was a finality in his tone that checked 
further inquiry, I invited him to stretch 
out on the lounge and take a little nap, 
promising to awaken him in time to / report 
in " to the station. 

" Sleep ! " he protested. " I'll not close 
my eyes this night! I'm done with the 
museum, the mummies, and the whole bunch, 
I don't tike it/' 

I looked at him in amazement. Murphy, 
of all men, to be ill-natured and nervous. 
The lack of a smile was as puzzling as the 
absence of his shoes. 

" Murph v," I concluded aloud, " you must 
be ill." 

" No M he hesitated, M unless I'll be 

Gamin' down with a bit of painter's colic. 
I've been touchin* up the home, you know, 
against the dear wife's return from the hos- 
pital ; and the odour of it got me a trifle 

doiif the kitchen ceilin 1 . But What 

was that ? >h 

" Wind/* I replied. " It's blowing a gale 
outside, straight from the beach. This old 
shack rattles like the bones of our dinosaur 
up there in the gallery/ V_jQ 


/I Mystery Story 




'" Bones/' muttered 

Murphy, shifting to 

the edge of his chair. 

' There's notbin' but 

bones in the whole 

place, seems to me. 

There's dead birds in 

one room, and dead 

snakes in the other, 

and crawlin' reptiles 

cramped up in fruit 

jars as though crying 

to get out. There's 

the skeleton of that 

poor grin n in* gorilla. 

for instance, clinguV 

to a post like some 

drownin' devil lost at 

sea. I can figure you 

standin' it by day, 

Mr. Curator, but why, 

in the name of sense, you'll sit up 

workin" at your desk all hours of the 

night in this zoological graveyard, is 

beyond me. It's a tomb, I'm tellin" 

you, and they re not all happv in it, 

either ! '* 

" Not happy?" I glanced up at 
him in surprise. " What do you mean ? " 

" Exactly that* Mr. Curator They're 

14 Do you mean the employes ? 
rise ? JJ 

" No, not thirn/' said Murphy, 

" Well, then ? " I demanded, 
around in my chair and facing him. 
Murphy leaned forward, 
11 Pass me the makin's, Mr. Curator/' he 
said, "and HI— HI tell you what I "—he 
glanced at the door—' 1 what I saw not a 
moment ago with my own eyes, and I'm no 

1 passed him my pouch and papers, a 
luxury I indulged in when the dignity of a 
cigar or propriety of a pipe was not required. 
Murphy spilled out tobacco enough to have 
filled the great Turkish pipe above my desk, 
and at that made a pitifully thin cigarette. 
He stood up, brushed the mixture from his 
knees, and drew his chair close to mine, but 
facing the closed door that led to the main 

^» e jyOriginalfrgm . M _ . 






without further preliminary, " carryin' the 
electric torch as usual, Mr. Curator. I'd 
been worryin' a bit over putting light blue 
in the new baby's room, when folks tell me 
it should have been pink for a girl. There 
was nothin' else on my mind. AH was well 
among the statuary. I flashed my light on 
old King Saul's marble whiskers, admirin' 
him as I do for that fine fightin' face of his, 
and took another look at the young Greek 
lad throwin' the what's-its-name. He looked 
cauld. They all did, for that matter. Even 
thim with clothes on seemed to be wrappin' 
their stone drapes around them against the 
draught. I passed under the arch of one of 
your heathen tombs into the Indian room, 
makin' my usual investigation behind the 
canoe by the door and findin' no one hidin' 
there, as usual. The wind rustled the blan- 
kets a bit on the walls, but there was nothin' 
to worry about. By the way — the rats are 
gettin' into your stuffed chief. I threw my 
stick at one, but he escaped me. On re- 
coverin' my club, I wint into the art gallery 
adjoinin'. She was there — my favourite one, 
with more hair than judgment — and fewer 

" 4 Poor dear ! ' says I to myself. ' Still 
clutchin' the babe to your breast. I'll take 
my light off your shamed face, but I'd like 
to find the man that done it.' There was 
plenty of them smirkin' there on the walls 
that looked guilty. Fine gentlemen with 
masterful ways to deceive any poor girl. 
Art's a queer thing, Professor, and I bet the 
painters themselves put in many a secret 
they never intend to tell. They're always 
rubbin' tfut and pain tin' over again in a 
hurry, I've noticed." 

11 If that's what is worrying you, Murphy, " 
I interrupted, " cheer up. Don't grieve over 
the plight of that painted lady, who, in 
reality, is a most contented and respectable 
model. The baby isn't hers. It was rented 
bv the artist from his laundress." 

" Hush ! " protested Murphv. " It's not 

The look I had seen when he first entered 
the room came back to his face. He went 
on in a hurried whisper, glancing now and 
then at my office clock, which was nearing 
one. * • 

11 I passed through the second and third 
gallery — the pioneer room, the jewel room. 
I noticed then, when I flashed it on the cases, 
that my light was gettin' a bit dim. ' I'll 
have a new battery in the morning,' says I 
to myself. From there I went through" the 
antique furniture and upstairs to the natural 
history. I was high on the top gallerv, 
standin' right back of the wounded buffalo, 
when I thought I heard a noise. ' Wind/ 
*ays I, payin' no heed, but takin' the pre- 
caution to unbutton my coat so the gun 

would be handy. I stood still, and it came 
again — a faint, tappin' noise, like a woman's 
hand smoothin' the pillow after makin' the 
bed and turnin' down the top sheet." 

" Or a rat's tail hitting the floor," I 

" Wait ! " Murphy ordered. " Wait till 
I tell you the rest. It's nearin' one o'clock, 
and I'll have to hurry on to my next round, 
but I'll finish first. It was no common 
sound. I know thim all in this place like 
Patereski knows his notes — rats gnawin', 
mice sneakin' around, doors creakin', an 
Indian bow swingin' in a draught. I know 
the sound the water makes when the heater 
pipes are coolin' off, the trees rubbin' against 
the back of the building, and every moan 
and groan and creak and crack that's natural 
to the old place itself or the things that's in 
it. This was a strange sound. I've been 
here six months, and I've never heard its 

" I stood there, savin' to myself : ' Murphy, 
you fool, it's nothin'.' At first I couldn't 
place it. It seemed to come somewhere from 
below, and still it was close to me. One tap, 
strong like, and thin several little ones, as 
though the woman's hand was being imitated 
by the child at her elbow. On my toes I 
slipped over to the gallery rails and peered 
clown. The moon was up, as you can see 
there through the window. Professor, and a 
streak of it was in the main hall, lightin' the 
arms of your giant devilfish hangin' there. 
It was still — the sort of stillness that makes 
you want to yell out and yet turns you so 
fearful you can't take a deep breath. I stood 
there, and put my eyes and ears to every 

" ' Tap — tap, tap, tap ! ' it came again. 

" ' If you're behind the bull moose,' said 
I, half aloud, drawin' my gun, \ you'll come 
out.' But there was nothin' there. I 
searched among the cases, from your two- 
headed calf at one end to the man-eatin' 
shark at the other. If I'd known thin what 
I do now I'd have wasted no time among dead 
beasts and insects, but my ideas were simple. 
' Perhaps a loose bone of the gorilla,' thought 
I, ' swingin' on a wire against his naked ribs.' 
But no, I tried thim all. 

" Thin a thought struck me, and I started 
downstairs for the jewel room in a hurry. 

" ' Murphy,' said I to myself, ' you've 
never had a robbery in this museum. There's 
a fortune in jewels here, and any rogue that 
wants can come in durin' the day and get 
the lay of the land. He might hide himself 
away thin, or effect an entrance at night. 
What's easier than to pry open one of those 
old-fashioned window locks and step in ? 
Right now he's got a chisel under the lid of 
^ the case that hoids tbe jewelled crown of old 
Queen Somethmg-or-other, and is tappin' 






it with a rubber mallet. His sack is half full 
already, and while you're creepin' around 
like a superstitious idiot he'll finish the job 
— and leave you to face the chief in the 
mornin', and the commissioners at night, with 
a fine story, indeed.' 

" Well, I lost no time. As I crossed the 
main hall I tried my light, under my coat. 
It was no stronger than the glow of a dying 
match, but I figured I'd be better without 
it, feelin/ sure the thief would be war kin* 
with one of his own." 

" Why didn't you switch on the lights 
and— — " I interrupted myself. " Oh, yes ! 
I remember. They re putting in a new circuit 
in that wing/' 

"They are," said Murphy. "And I 
thought to myself that the thief probably 
knew it, too ; and that was one reason for 
him pic kin' this night for his little game. 
Well, at the threshold of the pioneer room I 
took my shoes off, sit tin' down on the floor. 
I was just gettin' up when 1 heard the noise 
again — four taps, this time p one long and 
three short. I remained on my hands and 
knees, listening It was in the jewel room 
and no mistake. My courage, if I have any, 
Professor, came back to me. 

" ' Murph ! J said I to myself, ' you're 
fightin' a flesh-and-blood man now — you 
know where you stand. He's a plain bur- 
glar stealin' jewels. Go in and get him/ 

11 I got up and wint in. It was pitch dark. 
If I hadn't known the exact position of every 
case I would have struck sumpthin", but 1 

made straight down the centre carpet, step 
by step, like a cat. ' If he moves/ thought 
I, 'or shows the flash of his light, I'll get him 
quick/ Perhaps three paces away from the 
case that holds the old Queen's jewels I 

* Tap — tap. tap, tap ! ' He was there, 
vv or kin' under the stand table. My gun was 
cocked and my spirit was up. I couldn't 
see a thing, but I thought I'd bluff him. 

' Out of it, or I'll blow your blankety- 
blank head off ! * I hissed. ' I've got a bead 
on you, crouchin' there. Crawl out on the 
other side and lay on your face before I kill 

' There was no answer, but for a minute 
1 thought I heard him crawlin". There was 
a faint noise like a hand rubbin* over a table. 

' Crawl out ! p I called again, ' or I'll shoot 
you where you lay/ 

" Nothin' doin\ except that the scrapin' 
continued. ■ Sneakin' on all fours to the 
mummy room, is he ? r thought L ' Well, 
I "11 ambush him/ From where I was standhV 
the door was less than a dozen steps. The 
moon was shinin' faintly through the sky- 
light there and I could make out the cases 
against the walls, with the mummies in 'em; 
but there was only a streak of greyish light 
across the floor, no wider than my hand here, 
" Makin' no sound, I shifted over until I 
felt the edge of the long case containin' the 
jades, and from there it was easy to guide 
myself to the doorwav. PressfrV my back 
a^li^inalefrCMsln, I waited. If the rogue 




came crawlin* or tiptoein' through that door- 
way he'd pass within arm's-length of me, I 
reasoned, and, dark as it was, and no matter 
how stealthily he moved, he couldn't get by 
me at such close quarters. I had my gun all 
ready to shoot down or up, as the case might 
be. As I waited, still as the mummies in the 
next room, the noise kept gettin' closer. The 
nearer it got, the less I could make it out. 
1 His shc^-lace is untied and draggin' behind 
him on the marble floor,' was my first thought. 
' No ! ' said I again, ' he's got on moccasins, 
borrowed from the Indian room.' I wished, 
when I thought of my own stockin' feet, that 
I'd done the same. 

" Of a sudden the sound was within three 
feet of me, but still I could see nothin'. I 
strained my eyes in the blackness. It was 
like ink. ' I'll shoot,' thinks I, ' but where ? ' 
The sound was almost at my feet. I stepped 
straight out into the doorway, spreadin' my 
legs a bit. I'm a big man, Mr. Curator, and 
no one could have squeezed by me." 

He paused. 

H Well ? " I said. 

Murphy leaned over and laid his big, 
muscular hand heavily on my arm. 

" Well," he said, " someone or sumpthin' 
did ! I stood blockin' the door with my 
shoulders, arms, and legs, a cocked revolver 
in my hand, and it got by. Sumpthin', 
light as the trailin' hair of a woman, crept 
slowly across my foot. It struck my toes 
first, and travelled up my instep, and wrapped 
itself for half a second around my ankle. 

" Jumpin' back, I swung my gun to the 
floor, but I didn't fire. Even as I jumped, 
the thing, a different part of it, was in my 
face. It brushed my cheek first, and I 
struck it back. It came on again, not 
hard or rough-like — I wish to God it had 
been ! — but light and soft, rubbin' against 
my lips and nose like the wet tongue of a 
dog. Cauld and soft as that, but not wet. 
With my empty hand J struck it back again. 
There was no resistance. It faded away at 
my first touch, but was back in a second, 
rubbin* its terrible cheek against my own — 
nestlin' on my shoulder— caressin' my ear 
with its dry, silklike face. Every minute I 
expected it to whisper sumpthin' — to put 
some kind of smooth arms around my neck — 
tangle me in its long hair that kept brushin' 
my stockin' feet. I don't know how many 
times I pushed its fawnin' face away — six 
or seven, at the least. If it had come on 
fightin' with blows or claws, I could have 
stood it, I think. But it was the soft, 
yieldin' touch of it, the way it caressed me — 
in the pitch dark. It put its cheek against 

my lips again 

For the love of God, leave me be ! ' I 
cried, droppin' to my knees on the floor, 
coverin' my face. 

" As though loath to go away, it gave me 
three gentle taps on the soles of my feet. 
Drawin' them under me, I crouched there, 
doubled up in a ball on the threshold. For 
several minutes nothin' happened. I was 
frozen to the floor. Then I heard the ' tap — 
tap, tap — tap,' like at first, different from 
the scrapin' sound. It came from overhead. 
Professor, I'll confess I hadn't the nerve to 
look up. I waited till it got fainter and 
fainter. Finally it stopped altogether, and 
I started to crawl away into the jewel room. 
Sumpthin' tempted me to look back. The 
streak of moonlight in the Egyptian room 
had shifted and was layin' across the mummy 
cases, a yard, or perhaps four feet, in front 
of them. The mummies themselves were 
in the dark shadowy shapeless bodies standin' 
stiff and straight like soldiers shot against a 
wall. It crossed my mind that thim poor 
devils could never escape their bandages — 
when — I saw it ! " 

" Saw what ? " I demanded, in a voice 
louder than I intended. 

" Hist ! " said Murphy. " I saw the thing 
goin' back — the thing that had been wan- 
derin' in the jewel room — the thing that lay 
against my face a moment before." 

'* You saw it — you actually saw " 

" Yes," interrupted Murphy ; " I saw it 
with my own eyes, as plain as I see you 
sittin' there." 

" What was it— what did it look like ? " I 
queried, trying to steady my voice. 

Murphy hesitated a moment, and drew his 
hand across his eyes as though shutting out 
a too vivid vision. 

" What it was I don't know," he resumed, 
thoughtfully. " What it looked like I could 
tell you if I had- the words. It's hard to 
describe. Crouchin' there, lookin' over my 
shoulder, I could see it floatin' in the air, the 
full width of the Egyptian room being 
between us. It wint through the streak of 
light from the moon, and it was the size and 
shape of a mummy's head, with a few strands 
of drapery, or perhaps a wisp of hair, floatin' 
from it. As to the colour, I'm not sure. 
Blue — no, I think it was a kind of greyish- 
green. I wouldn't swear to it, though ; but 
I remember that the shaft of moonlight 
seemed to go right through it, and still it had 
a shape and colour of its own. It didn't 
stay long in the moonlight, thank goodness, 
and it didn't look my way." 

" Where did it go ? " I asked. 

"It wint " — Murphy spoke slowly, to give 
me the full significance of his answer — " it 
wint, Mr. Curator, back into the mummy case." 

" Where — which case ? " 

" The one that stands in the centre — the 

one that holds old Queen — Queen 

What's her name, Professor ? " 

" Do y^rcra^p^fM " 



41 Yes, that's her ! Queen An- Sera. " 

-< Why do you say this thing, or apparition, 
or whatever it was, went back to the mummy 
case, Murphy ? You didn't see it come out 
in the first place, did you ? " 

" No — but that's where it belongs, Pro- 
fessor, As sure as I'm sittin* here it's the 
soul of the old Queen, wanderin' of 
nights through the museum. Where 
did I come across her ? In the jewel 
room, didn't I ? " 

M Yes/' 

" Exactly 1 And do 
you mind the spot in 
the jewel room ? " 

" Why, yes ; it was 
•under the case con- 
taining " 

'The Queen's 
crown ! " inter 
rupted Murphy. 
" It's her crown 
she's pinin' for. 
For thousands of 
years she's been 
yearni n' for 
that crown, 
and little by fi 
little her soul J 
has been strug- 
glin' to get 
through those 
bandages. To- 
night it's free — 
and she won't rest, 
and we won't rest, 
till she has that 
crown Shell be 
tappin* at the jewel 
case all night, tryin* 
to break the glass, 
Let her have it, Pro- 
fessor, before we bulk 
go mad/' 

** Let her have it : 
asked, " How — what do 
propose ? " 

" Nothin' much," said Murphy, 
hopefully. " Just take your bunch of keys 
from the locker there, walk with me to the 
jewel room, unlock the case, open the -lid — 
and wait/' 

41 And then what ? 
ing him. 

c Then/' he replied, "' if she comes and 
takes it, welt and good, If nothin" hap- 
pens, if we see and hear nothin' — well, I'm a 
liar and a fool." 

11 All right, Murphy," I said, seeing that 
he was in dead earnest, " I'll do it." 

I took my revolver from the desk drawer 
and placed it in the right-hand pocket of my 
coat. In the other pocket I put the bunch 
of keys containing the one which opens the 

I encouraged, humour- 

crown j ewel 
case. I handed 
Murphy my 
torchlight, his 
bei ng worthless, 
and directed him to 
lead the way. He 
opened the door that 
gave on to the statu- 
ary room, and in- 
stantly stood still 

• - Listen!" he can- 
tioned. M There it is 

I listened, and 

heard it plainly : a 

faint, peculiar tap — - 

tap, tap, tap. And 

then, as both of us stood 

with straining ears, there 

came a trash of glass. 

"Where is it?" Murphy 


" The jewel room ! " I cried. " Hurry ! " 
There is nothing of the occult or mystic 
in my make-up, but I confess that the event* 
of the past few seconds, coupled with 
Murphy's unusual narrative, had thrown my 
mind into a state of excitement and dread 
almost equal to his own. As we pressed 
forward, threading our way through the 
maze of statuary in the main hall, Murphy 
reached backwards and signalled me with a 
pressure of his hand to stop, 

r You'd better take your shoes off, too/' 
lie whispered, " If it should be a burglar, 
he'll get us first unless we slip in on him 

I did. as. he. suggested. %Vith the torch 
ready, Highlighted, we moved silently 








through the impenetrable blackness of the 
pioneer room and reached the threshold of 
the jewel chamber. It, also, was dark. We 
might as well have stood, face-up, against a 
black walL Not even the faintest outline 
of the cases was discernible. I had expected 
some light to filter in from the skylight of the 
Egyptian room adjoining, but the moon was 
overclouded just then. 

Standing shoulder to shoulder, we waited* 
Half a minute passed, so still, I fancied my 
own heart- thumps were audible. Then came 
a faint, almost imperceptible " clink — clink/' 

like the cautious handling of broken glass. 
I felt Murphy's arm bend slowly upward 
as he raised his revolver, I took my own 
from the pocket of my coat. The noise 
continued, very gently. Practically con- 
vinced now that someone was rifling the 
jewel cabinet after having broken the glass, 
I was on the point of giving Murphy a 
whispered command to flash the torch, 
when a greyish streak of light sud- 
denly crossed the room at right angles 
to us The cloud had passed from 
the moon and the ray I had at first 
expected shone dimly from the 
Fgyptian room, full across the 
jewel case. 

Murphy's frame stiffened* 
My eyes sought the case. 
Hovering above it, 
rhythmically swaying 
from side to side, was 
the vague shape he had 
described* A chill passed 
over me. I watched, 
stupefied, the head of it 
build slowly downward, 
Inch by inch, as though 
measuring time by ages* 
until it finally disap- 
peared within the chest 
that held the Queen's 
jewels. Again came the 
faint clink of broken 
glass, and then it rose, 
painfully slow — deject- 
edly, I thought, baffled or 
disappointed in its quest. 
As it reached a point in the 
moonlight five and a half or six 
feet above the case, a sort of sob 
: -I- ... from Murphy's lips. 
1 God save us 1 ** he muttered — and 

The shot echoed and re-echoed through 

r the long corridors of the museum, 

-Simultaneously we rushed forward. In 

the haze of the revolver smoke the 

tiling quivered — unharmed. 

" Drat you ! " cried Murphy, and 
fired again. 

An instantaneous report answered 
his shot, 

" Look out ! " I shouted, but there was no 
need. Murphy lay full length on the floor, 
face up, his arms stretch eel outward. The 
thing that hovered above the case was gone. 
I knelt at the big fellow's side. The torch 
was still in his left hand. With it I examined 
every inch of his body. Strange to say, I 
had no fear of further attack. Something 
told me that part of the affair was closed* I 
could find no wound, not even an abrasion 
or scratch. 



voice, unanswered, sounded strangely in the 
unlighted room. The thought struck me 
that if he had shot a human being the body 
must be lying there beside the jewel cabinet. 
The finding of the person, or thing, would 
reveal what manner of weapon had been 
used against Murphy, and enable me to assist 
him, if the brave fellow were not already 
beyond mortal aid. Steeling my nerves to 
the effort, I flashed the torch ahead of me 
and walked deliberately over to the stand. 
There was nothing under it, or anywhere 
around it. I turned my light on the top. 
The glass, as I expected, was shattered, and 
bits of it were scattered over the crown 
jewels. One glance at them, however, con- 
vinced me that none was missing. Uncon- 
sciously I reached in to remove a jagged 
triangle of glass from the Queens crown, 
when the back of my hand encountered 
something soft and yielding. It lay close to 
the inner edge of the chest. The brief con- 
tact reminded me of human skin. I drew 
my hand away, and then, moved by an un- 
controllable impulse, deliberately seized hold 
of it and drew it out, full in the light of my 
torch. It hung, limp and shrivelled, in my 
fingers. My gaze shifted to the mummy 

" Could it be possible ? " I murmured, 
half aloud. 

" Could what be, Professor ? " came a 
voice from the floor. 

Murphy was sitting up, blinking and rub- 
bing his eyes. 

* Fainted ! for the first time in my life," 
he said, sheepishly, getting up and coming 
towards me. " What have ye there ? 

I held it up in the light for his inspection. 
He handled it religiously, and suddenly 
shook it free from his hand with a shudder. 

"Its the skin of her," he whispered; "it\sthe 
skin of the mummy Queen — I've shot her ! " 

" No — it's not that," I said. 

" Then, in the name of sense; what is it ? " 
he said. 

" Murphy," 1 replied calmly, ' vou've 
shot " 

" Yes ? " 

" A toy balloon ! " 

41 What I " 

" A toy balloon," I repeated, with a 
piece of string and a tiny brass ring here on 
the end, which some little child brought in 
here and then, in a moment of excitement or 
abstraction, released, as children do " 

1 But the ' tap, tap, tap,' objected 

" The balloon bouncing against the ceil- 
ing," I answered. 

** And the scrapin' noise ? " 

" Was," said I, " that ring dragging on 
the floor. No wonder the thing bounced 
back when you struck it, with the string 
wrapped round your ankle." 

" But how about the broken case, Pro- 
fessor ? How do you account for that —and 
why did it keep wanderin* between this jewel 
cabinet and the mummies ? " 

" Current of air," I explained, answering 
his last question first. " As to the glass, it 
was broken by this crystal ornament here, 
knocked by the balloon from that old chan- 
delier overhead. It's as plain as can be/* 

Murphy looked down at his stockinged feet 
and sneezed. 

44 Professor," he said, " you're no doubt 
right, but 111 ask vou one favour." 

" Granted." said I. " What is it ? " 

" Put that t old woman's skin under her 
crown here, and leave it." 

I did. 


Trick i. A plays 4 hearts. V wins with knave. 
„ 2. V plays club. B covers. Z plays ace. A plays queen of trumps. 
„ 3. A plays 8 hearts. Z wins with 10. 
„ 4. Whatever Z leads A B make remainder. 
There is no other solution. Suppose A leads out trumps at start, plainly he wins but 4 trump tricks and 
ace of spades (5 tricks). If he plays ace of trumps, then small, giving Z the lead, then Z plays smalt spade, 
when A wins 3 trump tricks and 2 in spades (5 tricks). If, playing as above, A allows Z to win trick 2 with the 
ace of clubs, this player returns his trump, when A makes 2 trump tricks (his best play), 2 spades, and 1 dub 
(5 tricks). If he tries to trump a spade in dummy, Z, of course, plays trumps, when in. 

If Z allows B to win trick 2, B goes en with clubs, A trumps high and plays as before, winning 6 tricks 
This is the only Bridge Problem based on the principle of giving away two apparently need ? ess tricks m 

by Google 

Original from 



Should Woman's Privilege Become Her Right ? 



HIS is Leap- Year, when women 
have the privilege of propos- 
ing marriage. But women 
have abandoned privileges 
and insisted upon rights. 
With the principle of sex 
equality legcflly established, 
the question arises whether the occasional 
privilege must not now be regarded as an 
established right ? 

Some of the novelists have answered the 
question, it is true, long in advance of the 
fact of female enfranchisement. Lorna 
Doone, it may be remembered, in Black- 
more's story, practically threw herself at 
the feet of John Ridd. Dolly Varden, in 
•-' Barnaby Rudge," seizing on Joe .Willet's 
first use of her Christian name, impetuously 
declares her love for him. In these and 
other instances which could be quoted, 
however, the maiden simply takes her 
courage in both hands in order to embolden 
a lover who might otherwise have remained 
silent simply because he was too diffident 
to speak. 

Fiction affords other examples of the 
woman taking the initiative and putting the 
man to the test with less happy results for 
herself. When Elsie Venner, in Oliver 
Wendell Holmes's romance, asks Bernard 
to love her, she has the mortification to find 
that the only love he has to give her is that 
of a brother or a friend. In Hall Caine's 
" The Manxman/' Kate's avowal of her love 
for Philip is equally futile — she discovers he 
has never cared for her in the way she has 

Arabella, in " Jude the" Obscure," brings 
about a marriage with Thomas Hardy's hero, 
but having regard to the lady's character, 
her case hardly counts. In that very popular 
story, " The Rosary," Mrs. Barclay's heroine 
virtually proposes to the hero, but this was 
only after she had rejected — in a peevish 
spirit — his own offer of marriage. 
Vol 1U.-19. 

Among comparatively recent novels I have 
been able to find only one frank and un- 
equivocal proposal on the part of a woman 
to a man. It occurs in Dion Clayton Cal- 
throp's " Per/pet ua," after the hero has had 
the misfortune of seeing the girl he loved 
married to another : — 

"How can I help you, dear? " he asked. "I'm no 
good — I'm not a man, I'm a thing. I've no heart 

" Marry me," said Stella. 

He remained where he was, quite still, absolutely 
confounded by her words. In a minute he recovered 
and placed one hand on her shoulder, standing behini 
her so that he could not see her face. . . . She 
quivered under the touch of his hand. 

*' I love you," she said, and he had never heard the 
passionate ring in her voice before. ** I love you. I 
didn't know it until I found you loved her, and then 
I knew quite well that I had always loved you. I 
want you." 

lie remained standing quietly behind her. 

" Stella, my dear," he said, " it's terribly difficult, 
isn't it? — I don't know what to say. I'm overcome 
for the moment, and I can't think." 

" If you knew what it cost me to say this," she 
whispered. " I feel as though I had stripped mvself 

" We should never be happy, my dear," he said ; 
" never be of any real use to one another. I shall 
always be true to her in my heart, though it seems 
to have" lost any proper, ordinary feeling — you and I 
are such wonderful friends." 

This is from a man's novel, and it is a 
woman's question. What have the women 
novelists to say to it, regarded as the inter' 
preters of the feelings and opinions of their 
sex ? For an answer to this query I have 
consulted a number who may be regarded 
as representative of the fiction of to-day, 
asking them in each case to illustrate 
their s